


the black door

by ghosstkid



Series: the black window [2]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 86,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25623754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosstkid/pseuds/ghosstkid
Summary: “I look at all of you and I see you. But I also see who we were… It’s so strange. I remember things like going to the movies with you, swimming at the beach and Halloween but in my dreams or my memories, I remember seeing the blood on the snow, I remember the darkness of night that was just never broken by the sunrise and I remember Carnivale…” Francis tried to explain. James gripped the handlebars of his bicycle tightly.Harry had asked him about Carnivale.“For a moment, I forget what's past and what is present,” Francis breathed.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Series: the black window [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855183
Comments: 53
Kudos: 36





	1. the black door

The missing poster fluttered in the refreshing ocean breeze. The printer ink letters glinted in the warm June sunlight. From the black and white confines of the photo, the missing boy smiled out at the world that had already begun to move on without him. 

Above him were the words ' _Have You Seen Me_?' 

Henry Collins stared at the poster that was taped to the streetlamp. No one had seen Harry Goodsir for almost a week now. An older lady that came into the corner store where Collins worked said that he was good as dead by now when she noticed the same missing person poster hanging on the corkboard behind the counter; they should be sending out recovery parties instead of search parties. Collins had forced a smile onto his face when he handed her her change. 

Harry was a good kid, he was nice to everybody. Collins had wanted to talk to him but his friends intimidated him. The tall boy was so popular, everyone knew who James Fitzjames was and his friend, Francis Crozier, was just scary; he just looked like someone had spat in his face all the time. 

Harry though, he was good. 

Collins sighed as he turned away from the missing poster. Under his right arm was his skateboard. The design of a diver in an old shining diving suit glinted under its protective clear coat of paint. Collins had painted it himself. Far above the diver’s massive, heavy brass helmet was clouds or maybe chunks of ice, Collins couldn’t decide. 

He threw the skateboard down onto the hot pavement and jumped on it, quickly gaining speed as he pushed his foot against the hot pavement, the laces of his black high top sneakers fluttering around his ankle. His white t-shirt billowed loosely, his legs sweating under his work jeans. In his backpack was the annoyingly orange vest that made up his uniform. 

He didn’t have to work but he was determined to get out of this sleepy town sooner rather than later. 

This town was full of ghosts. 

He set his foot down on the skateboard and coasted lazily down the hot road. The wind played with his dark, messy curls. 

It didn’t take long for Collins to realize he had a gift no one else had. When he was six, he helped his mother find her wallet. When she asked him how he knew where exactly it was, he told her that he saw it in his mind. Scared, she told him not to do it again. That only made him want to understand his gift more. 

By the time he was ten, he could see objects in other rooms or even in other houses. By the time he was fifteen, he could see the ghosts. 

He guessed they were sailors, lost at sea. A lot of them wore navy blues but others looked dirty and exhausted in ragged clothing. He thought they looked similar to some of the people he knew but he didn’t think much of it; they were probably just long-dead family members. 

At first, the ghosts didn’t pay the boy much attention. He’d see them haunting some of the old houses, wandering silently up and down the halls, unnoticed by the people who lived there. Collins watched it all, fascinated. He didn’t want to do anything bad, he was simply curious. He wondered about what his dog did when he wasn’t around, he was curious to find out if Henry Le Vesconte really did have a stash of candy in his school locker or if Tozer’s convertible was as cool as he made it out to be. He was able to answer all those questions, unnoticed. 

That didn’t bother him, he wasn’t noticed much anyways. 

All he had to do was to simply dive. 

However, one night, the little diver was noticed. 

Collins sat on his bed trying to calm his breathing. He pulled the black hood of his hoodie up over his head. He took a deep breath as though he were about to jump underwater. 

Slowly, he closed his eyes and let himself dive. 

He didn’t fight the current as it took him where it wanted him to go. He had nowhere in particular he wanted to go tonight. He floated down into the darkness, deeper and deeper till he finally came to rest on the bottom of the ocean floor. He could feel the gentle current around him, could hear the water swish around fish as they swam above him, could smell the salt. 

The teenage boy opened his eyes. 

He was sitting on a floor in a dark hallway. The ceiling was slanted, telling him that this third floor had once been an attic but now it was home to a few small bedrooms. Glancing at the faded, colourful wallpaper and the laundry hamper by the stairs, he guessed it was kids his age that slept up here. He could hear music faintly drift from under one of the closed doors and even fainter, the sound of the ocean waves washing onto a nearby shore. 

Slowly, Collins got to his feet. 

He carefully walked down the hall, his bare feet silent on the wood. No slivers caught on the hem of his sweatpants. He found himself at the top of a staircase that led down to the second-floor landing before continuing further down. He wondered whose house this could be. 

Just as he was about to start down the stairs, he heard a quiet sigh from somewhere in the darkness behind him. 

Slowly, Collins turned to look back down the hallway. 

Sitting in an old creaking chair by the closed door at the end of the hall, his eyes closed as if listening to the faint music that came from the bedroom, was a man. He was dressed in a heavy, navy blue greatcoat, the collar pulled up against his cheeks as though he were cold. The brim of his black hat glinted in the faint moonlight that shone through the small circular window just above his head. 

It took Collins a moment to realize that the moonlight was shining through him. The man was translucent; barely there as though he were slowly fading out of existence. 

Collins hesitantly took a step towards him. 

The man suddenly looked up at the boy who froze. 

A strange kind of dread came over him; it was the same kind of dread he felt when he had broken his mother’s favourite china plate or when he had cheated on a spelling test and was about to face the wrath of their authority. 

However, the man simply smiled at him. 

“Mr Collins. What are you doing here?” the man asked, his voice gentle and lively with a distinct brogue. The boy stared at him with wide eyes. “Go home, Mr Collins. This realm is not safe for you.” 

Before Collins could say anything, he was coming up for air.

He gasped as he grabbed at the blankets that covered his bed. He stared around his bedroom with wide eyes, his heart pounding.

He had never been pushed out of a dive before. The feeling terrified him. 

Since that night, he became more hesitant to dive; the ghosts were noticing him more and more. The ghosts weren’t malicious but some were desperate to be seen while others seemed nervous when they noticed him, as though he had walked in something he wasn’t supposed to know about. Everywhere he went, he could sense them. 

They made him hate this town. 

As he skateboarded down the quiet street, the warm sunlight in his eyes, he wondered if he could dive to find Harry. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to try but the thought of what he might find scared him. Anything could have happened to him; he could have drowned, could have been kidnapped, could have been murdered like that poor Graham who years ago had been hit by a car or the old story he had heard about a boy who was found strangled in the woods.

Collins didn’t want to find a body. 

The blue wheels of his skateboard rumbled down the old, cracking pavement. A warm ocean breeze rustled the green leaves of the trees that reached over the road for each other. He pushed off the pavement with his foot again, the board coasting steadily down the road. He was eager to get home; he’d put his headphones on and forget about the long day he had just had. 

The salty wind picked up. 

A pebble caught under the front wheels of Collin’s skateboard. 

It stopped suddenly, throwing the boy off balance. He crashed hard to the pavement, blood oozing through the knee of his jeans. He swore as he pushed himself up, wiping the gravel embedded in his palms off on his thighs. 

“I’m not doing this!” 

Collins looked up at the sound of yelling voices. His gaze landed on the old house just across the street from him, it’s black window staring back at him. The boy shivered despite the warmth of the summer sun overhead. 

He glanced nervously around the quiet street. Parked at the side of the road was a blue convertible. Collins frowned as he stood up, quietly picking up his skateboard. He glanced back at the house where he had heard the voices coming from. “Get out of there!” the voice yelled again. 

Collins glanced nervously up and down the street. He slowly began to cross the street. The boy reached the lawn, the dead grass crunching under his running shoes. He made his way up to the front door, the old porch creaking. He tried to open the door only to find it locked. He tried to not look at the black window as he turned away, jumping down the steps. 

The sound of angry voices made him duck quickly under the porch. He gripped his skateboard tightly. Through the cracks in the wood, he could make out four boys walking past, one of them storming ahead. 

One of them stopped. 

Collins lowered his head against his knees and held his breath. 

He listened to the crunch of dead grass under shoes. A moment later, the rumble of a car engine echoed through the quiet neighbourhood. 

Collins counted to ten before slowly crawling out from under the spider-infested porch. He glanced up and down the street, seeing no one. 

Heatwaves rippled off the pavement. 

The ocean wind had stilled. 

He should be heading home but instead, Collins found himself walking around the side of the house to the back. 

One of the windows on the first floor was shattered, a few shards of glass laying on the dead grass below it. Collins turned his gaze from the glass to the back door. 

The door was open.

Pitch darkness oozed out of the house. 

Every part of Collins told him to run but he walked towards the door anyways, pulling it open further so he could step inside. 

Inside the old abandoned house, it was cold, colder than anything Collins had ever felt before. The seventeen-year-old boy thought that such a cold didn’t exist here but his teeth began to chatter and his skin became sensitive with goosebumps. He shivered violently. 

He glanced around what he supposed had once been the kitchen. On the rotting wood table was a neat pyramid of old, red tin cans as though someone years ago had left them there for whoever happened to come by next. The sink was partially full of a dark sludge and the old refrigerator door hung loosely open, spiders laying their eggs where fresh vegetables and cheeses had once been kept. 

He tightened his grip on his skateboard. 

He should get out of here; this was the devil’s house. 

Collins turned to the door. 

The floorboards overhead creaked under heavy bootsteps. 

Collins froze. 

Voices whispered down the stairs just beyond the kitchen door. Some of them laughed, others cried while another screamed faintly, his voice lost to the cold wind. 

Slowly, Collins turned back around. He set his skateboard down on the old, rotting table. Carefully, he walked into the hall, his gaze rising up to the top of the stairs. He expected to see someone standing there but it was simply darkness. The boy turned to his left and found himself staring at the black window. Just like the story, it was in the dining room.

Resting on the old yet still elegant mahogany dining room table was a spyglass. It seemed to glow in the dim light that came from the hall behind him. No sunlight could penetrate the black glass. The boy took a step forward and gently picked up the spyglass, feeling the weight of it in his hands. It was heavier than he thought it would be. Engraved on the brass were the initials “J.I.”. 

It felt cold to the touch. 

Collins set the spyglass back down on the table. He took a step back, his wide eyes taking in the dark room. His breath fogged around him. 

Hanging from the ceiling was a broken chandelier. Staring at it, Collins could imagine the man from the story trying to hang himself from it. He could imagine the devil standing on the other side of the black window.

The devil smiled at him. 

Horror crashed over Collins. 

The devil had a sharp smile, blood oozing down his chin and dripping onto his white shirt. He smiled at Collins from the other side of the black glass; his eyes bright with a twisted kind of delight. 

“Mr Collins… Have you gone below?” the devil asked, his voice ringing loudly in the boy’s ears. 

The floorboards groaned under Collins’s feet as though they were being slowly crushed to atoms. Collins took a panicking step backwards. He hit the old, dusty wall. Strands of faded wallpaper and cobwebs stuck to his shirt and backpack. “So far below… Sir John envied you. So he went below too. Or so I was told,” the devil said, his bloody smile widening.

Collins watched in horror as the floorboards under the table suddenly began to break apart. A rush of cold seawater burst between the boards. The boards fell into the icy sea, scraping across pancake ice before falling into the freezing depths. 

Collins screamed as he scrambled towards the door to the hallway.

The table teetered over the jagged edge, the brass spyglass rolling off the wooden table and landing on a chunk of ice. The boy crawled into the hallway, slivers digging into the palms of his hands. He looked back over his shoulder, watching the icy water flow over the rotting floorboards. 

This was real.

He wasn’t diving, he wasn’t dreaming. 

This was real. 

Staring at the chunks of startling white ice floating on the black waves, a powerful wave of deja vu crashed over Collins; he had seen this before, long ago. He struggled to remember where and when but his thoughts were racing too quickly with fear to make sense of anything. 

A pale hand suddenly broke the surface of the frigid water and slammed onto the edge of the broken floorboards. 

Collins watched as the drowned man struggled to pull his dead, frozen body out of the water. He slammed his other hand down onto the wooden floor. 

Collins shot to his feet and began to run. 

He sprinted down the hall, his running shoes pounding against the rotting floor. He grabbed his skateboard from the kitchen table and shoved open the back door. He stumbled down the steps and sprinted around the house to the road. His lungs screamed for air. His heart pounded so hard in his chest he thought it would burst. Tears flooded his eyes and spilled down his cheeks that had been bitten pink by the cold. 

From the black window, the devil watched him go. 

Blood oozed from his hungry smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so excited for this story!!! It's going to be so much fun!! As you can probably tell it's going to be more of a horror story! I may change the rating to M, I haven't 100% decided how far I want to go with some of the horror elements but I'm really vibing with this IT kind of horror so it'll probably stay in that vein. 
> 
> Thank you all so so so much for your comments and kudos and love!! It really means so much to me, thank you!! I hope to have chapter two up next week, it's one of my favourite chapters of anything that I've written in a long time!! I'm also working on a playlist for this story as well if you are interested!!


	2. the dowsing rods

They had been two captains who, by no real fault of their own, found themselves stranded in ice; surrounded by darkness and fear. One was bitter and lost, the other masquerading and smiling till his joints filled with glass and scars he thought were healed had come back to haunt him. He bit back his pain, swallowed his blood and reached for the hand of the captain he followed when he offered it to him. One cold night, he asked him to help him out of it. 

They had been two little boys who liked to play in the muddy farmers’ fields, one with hair the colour of fire and the other with a laugh that echoed through the tiny village; one day that laughter stopped and they found one boy dead, his blood as red as his curls and the other boy crying till he couldn’t anymore. They said it was an accident; no one believed the boy when he tried to tell them about the man with the bloody smile. 

They had been two young men who had barely noticed each other all their lives in the small, growing town. One thought the other was cold and couldn’t even enjoy a nice pudding and the other thought he was arrogant, loud and far too proud for his own good. They could have gone their whole lives not saying a word to each other had they not ended up seated beside each other on the same train to the city. They never made it to the city however; the newspaper reported the next day that a horrific derailment had taken the lives of almost every passenger. 

They had been two college students who were home for the summer; full of new and big ideas. They had been caught reading greek under the pier and laughing in the library. They had let their hands linger for just a little longer than was acceptable and whispers swirled around the small coastal town. It was only a week until they would return to the city and to their school when one was found strangled to death in the woods and the other was found washed up on the beach, his pockets full of stones. To the town, this case was open and shut. 

Now, they were two boys who were on the brink of adulthood, laying in the shade under a willow tree. 

James Fitzjames stared up at the gently swirling tendrils of the willow tree. Sunlight filtered gently through the leaves, leaving kisses of warmth on his cheeks. He leaned his head against Francis Crozier’s thigh, his hair pooling over the brown trousers he wore. He stared up at the fiery-haired boy who was reading, his hands clutching the heavy book tightly so he wouldn’t drop it on James. He could just barely see Francis over the book, his eyes locked intently on the words.

James' attention slowly focused on the piece of paper sticking out of the book; it was a letter. 

He could make out the sweetly written words _‘Dear Francis, I thought you might like this book. I hope you are…”_ The words trailed off into the pages of the book. The tall boy stared at the neat words. His right hand pulled subconsciously at the grass. 

“How is the book?” James cleared his throat. Francis blinked, moving the book slightly to look down at James. 

“Oh… It’s fine,” Francis said with a shrug. 

“Who sent it to you?” James asked, poking at the letter. 

“Just a friend from school,” Francis said, tucking the letter inside the book. James frowned. 

“Just a friend?” 

“Yes. We’re just friends,” Francis repeated. James stared up at him. A biting question was on his tongue but he forced it back. James sat up. He pulled up a few strands of grass and placed them on Francis’s knee. 

“You haven’t told me much about school,” James said quietly. 

“There isn’t much to tell,” Francis shrugged. James placed another strand of grass on the older boy’s knee. “James, are you alright?” Francis asked gently. The tall boy said nothing as he plucked another piece of grass from the earth. “James,” Francis caught his wrist. “Is it about Harry?” James stared at Francis, his eyes starting to feel the sting of tears. 

It was about Harry. 

It was about what Harry knew, what James knew. 

It was about the cold, vast, white nothingness. 

It was about the vile taste of poison on his tongue and a gentle hand on his throat. 

It was about the creaking of wood under the immense pressure of ice. 

It was about the unforgiving rocks under their boots.

It was about the man with the bloody smile. 

It was about Francis sleeping in his bed beside him, their fingers entwined until the early rays of the morning sun shown through James’s window. 

James stared at the green stalk of grass between his fingers. His vision began to blur with tears. Francis gripped his wrist tighter. “James,” Francis repeated. 

“I-I…” James stammered. “I don’t know how to-” James froze. 

He could feel a hand on his shoulder, icy to the touch. The wool of a glove scratched against his skin. Captain James held his shoulder gently but his grip was firm enough to shock the words from his tongue. 

“How to what?” Francis asked. 

“It’s nothing. William just said something that bugged me this morning,” James lied. Captain James let go of his shoulder. “He said… He said that they gave up on rescue… And they sent out recovery parties in their place.” James let the blade of grass fall from his grasp. 

“Are you talking about Harry?” Francis asked with a frown. James forced himself to meet Francis' piercing gaze. 

“Yes,” James lied again. 

“Oh…” Francis said. He glanced down at his hand curled around James’s wrist. “You didn’t know what was going to happen, James. It’s not your fault…” The tall boy managed to nod, his long hair falling over his face. 

“Who sent you the book?” James asked again, forcing a smile onto his face. Francis let go of his wrist, turning away from him as he rolled his eyes. 

“Just a friend. We had an English class together, I thought I told you this,” Francis said. 

“You haven’t told me anything,” James said, sharper then he meant to. Francis frowned as he looked up at him. James turned his head, glancing over his shoulder. He could sense Captain James sitting against the willow tree, his round hat resting on the grass. The gold ribbon glinted in the sunlight, his heavy navy blue coat sprawled on the grass. He leaned his head against the bark, drinking in the warm summer light. 

Yet as relaxed as he was, James knew he was listening. 

“Forget about it,” the tall boy sighed. He got up, brushing grass and dirt off his light blue shorts that ended above his knee. He wore a baggy white and blue striped t-shirt over top, his white socks peeking out from the tops of his high top navy blue sneakers. The bows flopped lazily over his feet and dragged on the ground. 

“Is there something you aren’t telling me, James?” Francis asked, his eyes searching the younger boy’s face for answers.

“I should get going. I told my aunt I’d be home for dinner,” James said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. 

“Oh… Okay,” Francis got up. The two boys walked silently around Francis’s house towards the road. The sound of the waves rolling onto the beach and the screams of children playing floated towards them on the warm wind. “I’ll call you tomorrow? I think Thomas wants us to get lunch or something,” Francis said. James nodded. 

“Sure…” James said, kicking at a pebble. Francis watched him closely. James looked past Francis, at his bedroom window on the top floor of the old house. In the window, he could see the little model ship. “Terror,” James whispered. 

“What?” 

“That’s your ship’s name, isn’t it?” James asked. "Terror?" Francis blinked as he turned to follow James’s gaze. 

“Oh… Yeah. The _HMS Terror,_ ” Francis said with a smile. 

“Where did she go?” 

“I-I don’t know,” Francis frowned. 

“North,” James said, lowering his dark eyes to meet Francis’ confused gaze. “She went north. And then she disappeared.” 

“Disappeared?”

“Gone.” 

The two boys stared at each other. The warm breeze picked up, rustling the leaves of the trees that reached desperately over the road for one another. The waves rolled onto the beach at the end of the quiet old road. 

James tore his gaze away from Francis. “I should get going…I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Francis nodded. He watched James turn away and start walking. Slowly, he turned his gaze up to the ship in his window. “Gone,” he whispered. 

Dust flew up around James’s navy blue sneakers as he walked. He wished he had his bike but he had let Silna keep it for longer. He angrily stuffed his hands into his pockets, ignoring the presence of the ghost following close behind him. He managed to make it only a block away from home when he finally whirled around to face the Captain. 

“Why won’t you let me tell him what’s going on?” he snapped even though Captain James couldn’t answer him. He felt his sigh rumble around him. “Francis is having dreams about this! He told me! He’ll figure it out eventually. Why won’t you let me tell him!” A car went past and James quickly closed his mouth, trying to pretend like he had been yelling at seemingly nothing. Captain James stared down at his younger self, his dark eyes glassy and full of grief. 

Over the past few days, he had stayed at the boy’s side; a silent guardian like he had always been but now, James was more aware of him than ever. When he started talking to Captain James, at first the Captain wasn’t sure what to do; he couldn’t answer him. However, he listened intently and tried to offer whatever conversation he could. For so long he had been ignored, it made him feel light and almost happy whenever James turned to him. He was quickly learning though that his inability to talk back was incredibly frustrating.

It didn’t help that his teenage self was so angsty and arrogant; he should have expected that now that he was thinking back to how he had been when he was eighteen. 

James sighed as he turned back and kept walking. “I wish you could tell me. I know you have a reason. I just wish…” James stopped. Captain James cocked his head to the side, the gold ribbon circling his hat glinting like a halo. The boy turned to look back at him with a smile. “I know!” Before Captain James could reach for him, the boy was running. James ran the rest of the way home, jumping up the front porch steps and throwing up the screen door. 

“James?” his aunt called from the kitchen. 

“Yeah!” 

“Dinner is almost ready! And what have I told you about running in the house?” Her protests were ignored as James ran up the stairs to his room. 

He threw open his closet doors, grabbing two metal hangers. Using a pair of scissors, he struggled to cut them into rod-like pieces, resorting to bending them enough till they snapped. Captain James watched him with curiosity. 

“Can you close the door?” James asked.

Captain James nodded, quietly closing the door.

In the hall, William didn’t notice his brother’s door close on its own. 

James kept his attention on the rods, struggling to break the second hanger. “I saw this on television. I don’t think that you know what that is so don’t worry too much about it. These are called-” James grit his teeth as he bent the rods a quarter of the way down to make handles. “These are called dowsing rods. They work with energy… or something like that. Magnetic fields? People think they are fake and maybe they are… but I know you are here and you can move things,” James explained as he sat down on his bed. “Basically, all you need to know is that right means yes, left means no and if you turn both of them to the middle, that means maybe or you don’t know. Easy?” 

He felt the bed shift as Captain James sat down beside him. James held the rods out in front of him, careful not to move them. 

Slowly, the right rod moved to the centre. 

_Yes._

James smiled brightly. “Good!” he laughed. “I guess… I guess we haven’t really introduced ourselves. I’m James Fitzjames. And you are Captain James Fitzjames?” He could faintly hear the Captain’s gasping, pained laugh. 

_Yes._

“You were the captain of the _HMS Erebus?”_

_Yes._

“Do we really share the same soul? Am I really you? And you are me?” 

_Yes._

James stared down at the rods, feeling more clearly than ever the Captain’s presence. When he looked up, he could see him sitting in front of him, gripping the rods tightly as if they were a lifeline. His heavy coat pooled around him on the blue comforter, the buttons glinting in the sunlight that streamed through the window. His hat rested on the blanket beside him. He looked tired but determined, focusing intensely on the rods. Feeling the boy’s gaze on him, he looked up. 

The same eyes stared at each other. 

A question bubbled in James’s throat. It slipped out before he could stop it. 

“Did you… Did we die on the ice?” 

_No._

“On the rocks?” 

Captain James hesitated, his pain-filled gaze lowering to the rods. 

_Yes._

James blinked back tears. 

“Were we alone?” 

Captain James shook his head. 

_No._

“F-Francis?” 

_Yes._

“T-That’s good,” James managed to say, struggling to keep his voice from wobbling. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked…” the boy sighed. 

He didn’t have to live with that memory. 

“Y-You were a captain, right? That means you had a career in the navy. Did you...Did you do anything cool?” 

Captain James blinked. 

The teenage boy stared back at him, taking a moment to realize what he had said didn’t make any sense at all to the ghost. The boy couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Cool means something great, interesting or amazing or someone who is just…” James bit the inside of his lip, trying to think of the right word. “Someone who is just… really cool,” James laughed. “Amazing. Did you do anything like that?” 

Captain James hesitated. 

The two rods turned to the middle. 

_I don’t know._

James frowned. “How can you not know if you did something great?” 

Captain James didn’t answer. 

“Do...Do you think you didn’t do something amazing?” James asked hesitantly. 

Again, the two rods turned to the middle. 

_I don’t know._

James looked up at the translucent image of his older self. Captain James held tightly onto the rods, his dark gaze distant. The teenage boy set down the rods. 

“I think you are cool, Captain Fitzjames.” 

Captain James stared at the boy with wide, glassy eyes.

“James!” the boy’s aunt called up the stairs. “Dinner!” 

“I’ll be down in a minute!” he yelled back. “I’ll be back later,” James promised to the still stunned Captain James. He watched the boy get up and hurry from the room, closing the door gently behind him. 

After a moment, Captain James slowly laid down on the bed, his hat tipping off his head and landing on the blue blanket. 

Captain James Fitzjames smiled. 

The teenage boy didn’t come back after dinner but that was okay. Captain James was content to sit on the porch while the boy and his brother struggled to fix the older boy’s bike; the two arguing over how much to tighten the brakes or which wrench to use. 

Crickets sang as the sun lowered towards the horizon, the world glowing in the golden light. The moon slowly appeared in the darkening sky; just a sliver tonight. 

When the boys became tired of arguing, they got freezies from the freezer in the basement and sat down on the porch steps to eat them, watching the occasional firefly dart across the lawn while a few young bats swopped overhead. 

Tired and his tongue now a deep shade of purple, James finally made his way up to his bedroom. He pulled on his pyjamas and crawled into his bed. A gentle breeze played with the thin white curtains hanging over his open window. With a yawn, James reached for the dowsing rods. 

“Captain James? Are you still here?” 

_Yes._

James smiled. He laid his head back on the pillow, staring at the rods with half-open eyes. “Good… I’m glad you are here… I’m sorry I was scared of you. I’m sorry I hated you. I didn’t know you were only trying to protect me…” He rolled onto his side, setting the rods down on the blanket beside him. “I’m sorry, Captain James…” 

A gentle, icy hand rested on his shoulder. He could feel the scratchy navy blue wool as Captain James’s hand gently rubbed circles on his shoulder. 

“Why won’t you let me tell Francis the truth?” James asked, his eyes falling shut. Captain James sighed but continued to gently rub the boy’s shoulder. “I know… I know you just want to protect…” James’s voice trailed off, sleep wrapping her arms around him and pulling him down deep, lulled by the gentle feeling of the Captain’s hand rubbing his shoulder. 

When James opened his eyes, he found himself standing in a narrow hallway illuminated by lantern light. He glanced down the hallway, seeing it open into a dark space. He could faintly make out hammocks hanging from the ceiling. The wood around him groaned under the heavy pressure of the ice, screaming out at him like a dying animal. 

James pulled the collar of his heavy, beige coat closer around him. His warm breath clouded in the air in front of his face. The fur brushed gently against his cheeks. He turned to his right, seeing a dark doorway at the end of the hall. Slowly, James turned, starting down the steeply slanted hall towards the door. As he got closer, he could hear the scratch of a quill against paper. 

The ship groaned around him, making him tense nervously. He took another step towards the door, almost reaching it. 

Something dripped onto the floor behind him. 

Red liquid seeped into the wooden floorboards glinted in the lamplight. 

Slowly, James turned. 

The man with the bloody smile stared at him, his sharp smile widening. 

“It’s almost dinner time, Mr Fitzjames. Won’t you join us?” 

Before James could scream, a hand curled around the collar of James’s coat and hauled him backwards through the doorway as the man lunged for the tall boy.

James screamed as he fell, tripping over his own boots. 

He closed his eyes tightly in pain, his elbow feeling bruised from where it had connected with the wooden deck. 

“Are you alright?” 

Slowly, James opened his eyes. 

Great, white billowing sails fluttered in the warm wind. The smell of the ocean washed over him. Seaspray twinkled over the railing of the ship as the waves crashed against the hull of the ship. James raised his hand to his forehead, rubbing his eyes with the thin, white linen sleeve of his shirt. Dropping his hand away from his eyes, a tall figure staring down at him slowly came into focus. 

Captain James smiled down at him. 

They were dressed identically, like twin brothers. They wore the same white linen shirt and white vest with glittering golden buttons. A neatly tied cravat and navy blue trousers tucked into the same boots that James had seen before, their initials written neatly on the side. Captain James however, looked healthy, glowing even, in the warm sunlight. His wavy hair fell neatly around his proud face. He extended a hand to his younger self, pulling him up off the deck. 

“I-I saw him,” James gasped, clinging to Captain James. “The man with the bloody smile…” 

“That’s why I can’t let you tell Francis,” Captain James said, startling the boy. 

“A-Am I dreaming?” 

“Yes but I’m in control, don’t worry” Captain James said with a reassuring smile. “Dreams are one of the few places where the veil between you and me is thin. This is a memory. Our memory…” Captain James said. His smile wavered. “I don’t have poison in my throat here,” Captain James said as he turned to look out over the busy deck. The boy stared up at him with wide, sad eyes. Captain James shook his head as though he were trying to shake the painful memory from his mind. “This was a good memory. I wanted to show you it. You gave me a voice again. The least I could do in return was show you something good like this. Or rather, what was the word you used?” 

“Cool?” James laughed. 

“Yes, that!” 

“You don’t have to do anything for me. You do enough as it is,” James said with a shrug. 

“I insist,” Captain James said as he walked towards the rail. He looked down at the glittering waves, taking a deep breath. When he turned back to James, his smile had vanished. “Hickey goes after those who are vulnerable or those who know about what happened to us. Those who know have the power to shatter this illusion that he’s the king of your little town. So long as no one knows, he has an endless food supply. Something we never had at the end of our lives. You know and you are now a target. Harry knew and he was a target.” 

“So Hickey killed him…” 

“And ate his fragment.” 

“Oh, God…” James felt like he would be sick. He reached for the railing beside Captain James, gripping onto it tightly. The ship rocked side to side on the rolling, white-topped waves. 

“Telling Francis will make him even more of a target then he already is. I can’t let you do that,” Captain James said firmly. 

“How am I supposed to stop Hickey then? I can’t do it on my own.” 

“You aren’t alone. I’m here,” Captain James said, crossing his arms. 

“I appreciate that but you are translucent.” 

“Don’t be rude.” 

“I’m not being rude.” 

The two James Fitzjames’ glared at each other.

The older’s stern expression broke and he smiled, the younger smirking as he leaned against the railing. 

“I know I can’t win with you. You can’t win with me either,” Captain James laughed. His younger self rolled his eyes as he leaned his head in his hand, his elbow balanced on the railing. A wave crashed against the ship, the salty sea spray reaching up towards them. “You know, Crozier really hated us when we set sail," Captain James said with a small smile. "He thought I talked far too much. My stories were too long.” 

“That’s what Francis said when I first met him; I was being too loud,” James said. Captain James smiled; he remembered that day. He straightened up as he looked back at the deck, every inch of him looking like the proper Captain that he was. He gently laid his hand on the warm railing. 

“This was the first ship we captained,” Captain James said, lovingly running his hand over the railing. James looked up at the Captain whose gaze on the railing had become distant and longing. 

“Tell me a story about it,” James said. 

“A story?” 

“Yes. What did you do on this ship? Where did you go?” James asked with curiosity. Captain James smiled brightly. 

The sails above them billowed in the warm wind. The ocean waves sparkled. Captain James’s voice drifted along the wind, his eyes bright with excitement. 

When James woke up in the morning, he could still smell the sea. 

Still feeling warm, he pulled the blanket over his head and wished he could fall back asleep and find himself on that ship. He could see it clearly, remember it, just like Captain James. He stayed in bed even when he heard his brother get up and make his way loudly down the stairs, the tall boy drifting back into a gentle sleep. He dreamed of the waves and the flutter of the sails in the wind.

His peace was shattered by the sound of the telephone ringing downstairs. 

James groaned as he pulled the blanket further over his head, his long legs hugged to his chest. His brother’s loud footsteps on the stairs told him the worst. 

“James!” William knocked loudly on the younger boy’s door. James didn’t answer, praying he’d go away. “James! I’m opening the door!” The door creaked open. William frowned at his brother who lay with his back to him, the blanket pulled over his head. “Are you awake?” James said nothing. William sighed and turned away, closing the door loudly behind him. 

James sighed as he threw the blanket off him. 

A jolt of pain in his elbow shot through him, reminding him of his fall to the ship’s deck. 

The boy raised his arm. 

A bruise had blossomed on his elbow; purple and angry. 

James frowned, suddenly feeling very nervous. He took a deep breath and forced himself to get up. He rolled out of bed and managed to get dressed, pulling on a pair of high waisted jeans that had a rip in the right knee from when he had been roughhousing with Henry and the white and blue striped t-shirt he had worn the day before which he tucked lazily into his jeans. He tugged on a pair of blue socks and started downstairs. 

“Who called?” James grumbled as he walked into the kitchen. He pulled open the refrigerator and grabbed the carton of orange juice. 

“Francis,” William said as James grabbed a cup from the cupboard. “I told him you were asleep.” 

“Oh…” James said quietly, watching the orange liquid fill up his glass cup. Captain James’s warning echoed through his mind. He sighed; it was the only thing he was going to think about when he saw Francis. He would end up telling him and Captain James would be upset with him. All of that hard work to protect him; gone. 

James would have to bite his tongue and that was no easy task. 

He sat down beside William at the kitchen table and poured himself a bowl of cereal. He ate in silence, wondering if perhaps he could keep giving Francis hints till he put it all together; Captain James was already upset with him. 

After breakfast, he made his way back upstairs. He grabbed his backpack, carefully placing the dowsing rods inside. 

“I’m going to the library,” James told Captain James who stood quietly by the door. “I should get that book before anyone else does. Come with me, okay?” Captain James nodded. The tall boy slung his backpack over his shoulder and started downstairs, yelling at his aunt that he was going out. The screen door slammed closed behind him. 

Outside it was already hot. A refreshing ocean breeze swept through the lush, green leaves overhead as James walked down the road. The sky was a perfect deep shade blue. 

A light dinging sound echoed through the air. 

James turned to see Silna pedalling his navy blue bike towards him, ringing a little bell on the handlebars. She came to a stop in front of him, a small smile pulling at her lips. 

“Did you put a bell on my bike?” James asked. 

Silna nodded. 

James reached for the bell, ringing it. 

“I like it,” James smiled as he looked up at Silna. Her hair was pulled back in her usual bun. She wore a brown corduroy overall dress over a beige t-shirt. Her black tights were running along her shins and her heavy boots had mud sticking to them. 

Today, her nails were painted a deep shade of green that sparkled in the sunlight. 

“What are you up to?” James asked.

Silna’s smile wavered as she looked down.

“Harry?” 

Silna nodded. 

“I’m sure he’s alright,” James said, trying to reassure her though he knew that was a lie. 

Silna sighed; a part of her knew it too. 

The two teenagers stood in silence, the only sound being the wind whispering through the trees and the occasional songbird. 

“You know… My bike is pretty heavy. I could pedal for you for a little bit. Besides, two sets of eyes searching are better than one,” James said with a smile.

Silna looked up at him, her dark eyes searching his face. James had always reminded her of a bright light to her; a lighthouse breaking through the storm. Sometimes he was a bit too bright, like the neon signs hanging in store windows but today, he was a beacon cutting through the dark mist that had surrounded her. 

Silna nodded. 

She got off the bike and let James take her place. He steadied the bike as she climbed onto the pegs, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. She smiled as James began to pedal, the bike soon flying down the quiet road. 

“Were you going to the pier?” James asked. 

Silna nodded, tapping his shoulder twice. 

“Got it,” James smiled. 

By the time they had reached the pier, a few strands of hair had escaped from Silna’s bun. She jumped down from the pegs and waited while the tall boy locked up his bike. She stared out over the waves, watching them roll gently on the beach. 

The tide was in. 

“Where do you want to search?” James asked. 

Silna pointed to the woods at the far end of the beach. 

“Lead the way!”

Silna nodded and started down the beach. Sand flew up around their shoes. Gulls swooped overhead. They climbed up the already warm rocks and walked into the cool shade of the forest. Sunlight oozed through the leaves creating pools of warm light.

They came to a fallen log laying over a ditch. James held Silna’s hand while she walked over the log. Her grip tightened when one of her boots slipped but she quickly regained her balance. She jumped down when she reached the other side, smiling up at James. 

The two teenagers kept walking, searching behind trees and in bushes, climbing over boulders and even up a tree. Silna watched James with wide, nervous eyes as he pulled himself up into a tall tree. The leaves rustled loudly as he climbed up even higher, searching from above for any sign of the missing boy. He held on tightly to the branch as he scanned the forest floor. 

When he looked up, he could see a glimmer of the ocean through the leaves. He thought of the great ship that he had captained and the great adventures he had. He wished he could tell Henry about them; how he’d laugh at the cheetah story. 

James climbed back down, jumping from the last branch. He nearly landed on Silna, the girl reaching for his arms to steady him. 

Silna raised an eyebrow. 

“There’s nothing,” James said with a sigh. 

Silna turned away from him and kept walking. 

James watched her for a moment before following. 

It wasn’t much farther till they reached the rocky coastline. The waves crashed onto the dark, unforgiving rocks. James stared down the jagged cliff, a few pebbles slipping from under his feet and falling to the waves below. Silna stood beside him, her dark gaze on the horizon. 

“My aunt told me that you should never turn your back to the ocean,” James said quietly, his voice nearly lost to the wind. Silna glanced up at him from the corner of her eye. “It can turn in a second.” As if to emphasize his point, a great wave crashed onto the rocks, the spray reaching up to them. Silna took a step back from the edge. “I’m sure he couldn’t have gone far,” James said, trying to reassure her. “We’ll find him.” 

She nodded. She slowly sat down on the edge, pulling off her backpack. She handed James a granola bar as he sat down beside her. He thanked her quietly and unwrapped it, biting into it. The two teenagers sat in silence as they ate, watching the waves roll towards them. 

Silna gently tapped James’s bruised elbow. 

“Hm?” James glanced down her finger poking the angry bruise. “Oh…” James thought of Captain James’s hand pulling him through the doorway and his fall to the sun-warmed deck of that safe and beautiful ship. “I fell,” James said with a shrug. 

Silna glanced up at him for a moment before turning back to the rolling waves. 

James finished his granola bar, stuffing the wrapper into his pocket to throw out later. 

“Silna… Can I ask you something?” 

Silna nodded. 

“Did you see Harry the day he went missing?” 

Silna shook her head sadly. 

“Did you want to?” 

She nodded, the few loose strands of her dark hair falling over her face. 

“Was the last time you saw him the day of Hartnell’s party?” 

Silna nodded. 

James glanced down at his shoes. He struggled to remember that night clearly. He remembered sitting in the bathtub, remembered how much his eyes had stung with tears, remembered his fears bubbling up in his throat, remembered how much his chest hurt and remembered Harry’s gentle, reassuring smile. He could only imagine the things he said to him. 

Silna got up. She zipped up her backpack, the little polar bear keychain swinging. She started walking again, following the cliff. James got up and hurried after her. They walked a little farther; the waves crashing onto the rocks below. Gulls coasted on the wind. They reached a stream which flowed into the ocean, the water gurgling over the stones. 

Silna stared down at the sparkling stream for a moment. Slowly she turned to look up at James with a sigh. 

“Do you want to go back?” James asked. 

Silna nodded. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, tears smearing onto her skin. 

“Hey, it's okay,” James said gently, pulling her into a hug. “He’ll be okay…” 

Silna nodded against his chest, her arms hesitantly circling around his lean frame. 

After a moment, she stepped away. She looked up at him with a small, reassuring smile. 

They started back towards the pier. The wind picked up and whispered through the leaves above them. By the time they reached James’s bike, the sun was almost directly overhead. James unlocked his bike and got on. He looked up at Silna who stared at the waves. 

“I-I know you probably want to be alone right now… but it’s dangerous out here, Silna,” James said gently. “I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

Slowly, she turned to look up at him. 

James leaned against his handlebars, his dark gaze falling to the pavement. “I was going to go to the library. You could come with me if you want to,” James said with a shrug. 

Silna was still for a moment. Then she nodded, loose strands of her dark hair falling around her face. 

James smiled. He steadied the bicycle as she climbed onto the back pegs. 

Silna gently wrapped her arms around James’s neck in an awkward embrace; _thank you._

The tall boy patted her arm.

She leaned back and James started pedalling. They silently coasted down the winding road. Silna gripped his shoulders tightly, her eyes on the road ahead. 

It wasn’t long before they reached town. They passed the quiet doctor’s office and the church.

John Irving’s bicycle was locked up out front but they saw no sign of the boy as they went past. 

The library was quiet like always when they arrived. James left his bike leaning against the wall and led the way inside, the cool air was a relief from the hot sunlight. Silna followed the tall boy past the shelves till they found Bridgens who was putting away a stack of books. The older boy jumped when he saw James. 

“Oh! James!” Then he noticed the girl behind him. “Silna, hello!” 

“I was wondering if you still had the book I asked you to hang on to?” James asked, glancing hesitantly at Silna whose brow furrowed. 

“Oh, yes, I do,” Bridgens said. He set down his stack of books and led them towards the front desk. As they walked, they passed the door to the dark, dead room. James glanced nervously at it. The door was hanging open; someone had kicked it in. 

“What happened to the door?” James asked.

“Oh, someone broke in the other night. They stole something that was in that room. We don’t have a record of what's in there so all we have is an empty box to go off of,” Bridgens said with a sigh. “I can’t imagine that there would be anything valuable in there but I suppose I’m wrong,” Bridgens shrugged. 

James glanced back at the door. He remembered seeing something glinting in the dim light. 

“Here,” Bridgens held the old book out to James. The tall boy reached for it but Bridgens didn’t let go. James met his heavy gaze. “I read it,” Bridgens said simply. James froze. A cold shiver running down his spine told him that Captain James was listening. The boy could see him out of the corner of his eye, his gold buttons glinting in the fluorescent light. “James,” Bridgens said firmly, forcing the younger boy to meet his gaze. “Whatever you and Harry are involved in, it's bigger than we will ever know or were ever supposed to know. I am perfectly content with my life like this; I am happy. The end to this life,” he gestured to the book. “It was not happy and I don’t want to remember that.” 

“I-I understand,” James breathed. “I’ll be careful.” 

Bridgens slowly let go of the book. James hugged it to his chest. He turned to meet Silna’s wide-eyed stare. James stammered, glancing nervously at the ghost behind him.

Captain James seemed to be hovering over him, waiting to snatch the words from his tongue. He watched the boy intently, silently begging him to hold back the words that bubbled up in his throat. 

James reached for Silna’s arm, pulling her towards the door. She pulled against his grip as he pushed open the door, the two teenagers stumbled out into the hot sunlight. 

Silna yanked her arm from James’s grip. 

“I can’t tell you,” James said with a heavy sigh. “I want to but I can’t.” 

Silna crossed her arms, her gaze dark like an ocean storm. 

“Besides..." James said sharply. "Harry probably wouldn’t want me to tell you either-“

Silna slapped James Fitzjames. 

The tall boy staggered backwards, the book slipping from his hands. 

Silna grabbed the book before he could, stepping back from James as he lunged for it. She held her hand out threateningly. 

_You don’t know what Harry would want._

James sighed as she flipped through the pages, her anger slowly turning into confusion. She looked up at him with wide eyes. 

“The names aren’t wrong,” James sighed. “I am that Captain James Fitzjames and Harry was...is that Harry Goodsir. It was our past lives. I think you were involved too but you aren’t mentioned in this book,” James said, wondering how he’d explain this. He could feel Captain James’s distress rolling around him like heat waves. “Someone on this expedition made a wish, a wish that we would be happy. It brought us all back, even the worst of us. You can’t tell anyone about this okay, their lives might depend on it and I’ve already told you too much.” 

Terror flickered across Silna’s face. 

“Lives might depend on what?” 

James nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to look at Henry as the gangly boy rode his bike up to them. Not far behind was Edward, Thomas and Francis. 

Silna threw the book back at James who nearly dropped it again. 

James wrapped his arms around it tightly. 

“What are you two up to? You look guilty,” Francis said as he walked up to them.

Silna shook her head, forcing a smile onto her face. 

“We were just coming back from searching for Harry,” James said. “I was gonna get us lunch.” Francis glanced between the two of them. James’s grip tightened on the book. 

He could feel Captain James’s cold hands on his shoulders. He could imagine the look of terror on his older self's face as he faced this young fragment of his Captain, praying he wouldn’t find out that he had been keeping secrets. 

“Oh…” Francis said. He fidgeted with the sleeve of his navy blue sweater. James could tell he was annoyed; they had made plans after all. “Could we join you?” Francis asked awkwardly. 

“Sure,” James managed to say, struggling to keep his voice calm. 

Silna nodded too. 

The older boy glanced back at the three other boys who were lazily biking in circles. “Irving was supposed to join us. He still might. None of us have heard from him this morning though,” Francis said quietly. 

“I’m sure he’s fine. Studying probably,” James said with a shrug. Francis glanced awkwardly between James and Silna who watched him hesitantly.

Francis grit his teeth. He turned sharply on his heel, walking back to Thomas and Edward. 

Silna looked up at James with a raised brow; _does he know?_

James shook his head. 

Silna’s confused look returned. 

“I’ll tell you later,” James whispered. He grabbed his bike, handing it to Silna before he hurried to catch up with Francis. Thomas, Edward and Henry had already pedalled ahead, the sunlight glinting off their bicycles. 

“How is the book?” Francis asked, gesturing to the book James held tightly in his arms. 

James paled. He could feel Captain James’s terror crashing over him. 

“Oh, I’m not reading it. It’s just some book William asked for,” James lied. Francis frowned. He turned away from the tall boy with a cold shoulder. James wanted to reach for him but Captain James held him back. James tried to look away from Francis but instead, he was met with Silna’s judging, silent stare. 

James grit his teeth. He hated lying to Francis; he was damning himself with every word, digging himself deeper and deeper into his own grave. He watched the older boy walk ahead, not even looking back once at the soul that had once been his trusted second. He thought of Francis's own secrets that he wasn't telling him; did he not trust him anymore? The thought made his eyes sting with tears. 

James stared down at his shoes. He thought of Captain James’s fear, of his rage towards Hickey and his quiet, longing love, his cold hand gently caressing the sun-warmed railing of his ship. He thought of their grief, heavy on their shoulders. 

He wanted to see Captain James smile like he did when he told his younger self the story of their time on the _HMS Clio_. 

He wanted to smile like he did that night when he fell asleep with his fingers entwined with Francis’s. 

He didn’t want to face Hickey alone. 

He didn’t want to die alone. 

James felt the cold hand of the ghost tighten on his shoulder. 

“I will protect him,” James breathed. He pushed off his older self’s hand, hoping he’d understand. He reached for Francis. He pulled him away from their friends, his hands trembling as he thought about the words he had to say. The older boy looked up at him with a furrowed brow. 

“James?” 

“Francis, I need to tell you something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the support!! I'm so excited for this story! I had a lot of fun with this chapter!!  
> I'm going to do my best to do an update every friday!!  
> Thank you again for the love!!! <3 <3 <3 I'm so happy you are enjoying this story!!!


	3. the demon

The hungry boy would eat them all. 

The boy stared in his pillowcase full of Halloween candy with wide, hungry eyes. He had already stuffed a fistful of candy corn into his mouth and wolfed down a chocolate bar. He knew he should save his candy, he’d want it later for he knew he wouldn’t get this much candy again until next Halloween but all he could think of was the sweet flavour that filled his mouth now. 

He looked up at the dark street that was crowded with kids in costumes running house to house; fairies and ghosts, astronauts and Roman soldiers, walking fish and little lions. Jack-O-Lanterns glowed on front porch steps and fake spider webs hung from railings. 

The boy adjusted the large top hat that rested on his head. He was dressed in an old suit that was much too big for him and smelled faintly of mothballs for all of these clothes had once been worn by his long-dead grandfather and then tucked away in an old box in the basement. The only new thing his mother would let him buy was the fake plastic vampire fangs that now dug rather painfully into his gums. 

He reached hungrily into his pillowcase, rummaging around for another chocolate bar. 

“The chocolate these days is the worst,” a laughing voice suddenly said, making the boy jump. He looked up to see a man standing in front of him. His long orange hair was tucked behind his ears, his bright eyes taking in the little red-haired boy in his little faded suit and top hat. He was dressed in dirty white clothes with a heavy navy blue coat thrown on over top. His boots glinted in the orange light. He smiled as he leaned towards the boy and held out his hand. 

Resting in the palm of his hand was the most perfect chocolate egg the boy had ever seen. It was wrapped in a beautiful ruby red foil with little gold accents. 

“Go on,” the man said, his sharp smile widening. The boy reached for the chocolate egg. The man closed his fingers suddenly around the egg. “What do you say?” The boy blinked. 

“T-Trick or treat?” 

The man smiled and uncurled his fingers, letting the boy take the chocolate egg. He watched as the boy unravelled the foil. Engraved into the sweet egg was a little ship floating on a sea of chocolate waves. The boy bit into the egg. It was the sweetest thing he had ever had, tasting of everything he loved all at once; birthday cake, maple syrup, chocolate and ice cream. He smiled and took another bite. 

A sticky, strawberry jam filled his mouth. 

The boy looked down at the chocolate that was starting to melt between his fingers. 

A blood-red jam filled the centre of the chocolate egg. 

“It’s the best chocolate in town,” the man said with a smile. “I’ll always give you the good stuff.” He patted the boy’s shoulder. The boy watched as he reached into his navy blue coat’s pocket and retrieved another chocolate egg. “Keep this one for later. Don’t give it to anyone else, it’s just for you.” The boy nodded as he handed it to him. 

“Hickey?” The boy turned suddenly, his top hat nearly falling off. A tall boy dressed as a knight stared at him, his tinfoil armour glinting under the orange glow from the street lamp. “Who were you talking to?”

The boy glanced over his shoulder. 

The man was gone. 

“No one,” the boy said with a shrug. The tall boy frowned. 

“Where did you get that egg? It looks good.” 

“I found it,” the boy lied. “I only found one though,” he added, the second egg resting among a bed of candy in his pillowcase. The tall boy let out a disappointed groan as he watched the shorter boy finish his delicious chocolate egg. “Maybe we can find you another one, Tozer?” The little knight nodded. The boy smiled and skipped towards his friend, the two boys running down the street together. 

They didn’t find another egg for Tozer. 

When the boy got home, the hands of the clock were reaching for midnight. The streets outside had become quiet, all of the town’s children rushing home to gorge on their candy and fall into a sugary sweet sleep. The boy, however, was in no rush to go back to the old white farmhouse that he had the misfortune of calling home. He lingered outside for as long as he could before slowly walking up the front steps and pulling open the screen door. 

He could hear his parents fighting upstairs. 

The boy stood at the bottom of the steps, his heavy bag of candy hanging limply from his hand. He stared up into the darkness, listening to the awful, angry sounds his parents made. Slowly, he turned away from the stairs. He started towards the living room but he didn’t want to sleep on the ancient furniture that filled the small room. All of it had belonged to dead family members; grandparents who didn’t think he would live up to the potential his father or his brothers had, aunts who had pinched his cheek too hard and uncles who had ignored him. 

He turned to the basement door. 

It stood open, the darkness oozing up the creaking stairs and spilling onto the old wooden floorboards. The boy started down the basement steps, the wood creaking under his old, torn running shoes. He reached the bottom of the stairs. 

A single bare lightbulb hung from the unfinished ceiling. The old carpet that separated him from the cold cement floor was thin and threads were coming loose. The boy slowly made his way through the darkness to the couch. He laid down, setting his top hat down on the cold floor. The boy kicked off his shoes and reached lazily into his pillowcase for the second chocolate egg. 

Even in the darkness, it seemed to glow. 

The boy smiled. 

He unravelled the egg and took a bite, the almost overwhelmingly sweet taste filling his mouth. He savoured the egg for as long as he could. Still in his Halloween costume, he curled up on the couch and slowly fell into a gentle sleep, the delicious taste of strawberries on his tongue. 

He dreamed of those strawberries. 

He dreamed of eating them as he sat at a makeshift table surrounded by merciless rocks and an empty, uncaring sky. The boy stared at the plate in front of him. Slabs of red meat stared back up at him. 

The boy dreamed of strawberries as he placed one of the pieces of meat on his tongue. 

In the morning, the boy was woken by the sound of his mother yelling at him for sleeping in the basement. 

“I just wanted to sleep down here,” the boy sighed. 

“Fine,” his mother snapped. “Do what you want.” She turned and stomped up the stairs. She stopped at the top. “Get dressed, you’ll be late for school.” The boy sighed and laid back down on the couch. 

“How rude,” a voice above him said. 

The boy opened his eyes. 

Leaning against the back of the couch was the man who had given him the chocolate eggs. He smiled sharply at the boy. “Somebody should teach her some manners,” the man said. 

“S-She’s just mean. Always has been,” the boy said with a shiver. 

When had the basement become so cold? 

“Maybe you should be mean back.” 

“I don’t want to be.” 

“You’re a good boy,” the man said, his sharp smile widening. “You should go to school. It's good to have friends, people you can trust. There are a lot of people in this world you can’t trust.” 

“Like who?” 

“I’ll tell you if you go to school.” 

“Fine,” the boy sighed and got up. 

“By the way,” the man added. “I like your costume.” The boy smiled brightly before running up the stairs. 

He got dressed in a plain green sweater and black overalls. He laced up his running shoes over mismatched socks and pulled on his black coat that had been a hand me down from his older brother. Around his throat he wrapped a faded navy blue scarf, the edges frayed. 

He didn’t eat breakfast before he left. 

On the walk to school, he ran into Billy, the boy awkwardly making his way down the street on his new skateboard. The boy held his hand as he pressed his foot against the frosty pavement, the cold wind whipping around them. 

At school, he barely paid any attention to the teacher. He doodled on Tozer’s homework, shot spitballs through a straw at a boy named Hodgson and laughed when the ever so popular James Fitzjames tripped during gym class. 

When the bell finally rang at the end of the day, the boy and his friends bounded down the frosty school steps. Their loud voices echoed through the cold air. They made their way to Tozer’s house, walking aimlessly and with no real rush to go anywhere. Once at the tall boy’s house, they snacked on chips and argued over which new movie to go see at the theatre on the weekend. 

The boy avoided going home for as long as he could. 

He lay on Tozer’s bed long after the sun had gone down, stealing his Halloween candy. He stayed for dinner then he was forced to go home; Tozer had homework to do and he was too much of a distraction. 

The boy meandered along the dark, cold streets. He shivered under his warm scarf that hung loosely over his shoulder and down his back. A cold wind whispered through the bare branches of the trees that reached weakly over the street. In the dark sky he could faintly make out a few little stars.

How far away they were. 

The boy stopped in front of a quaint, old house. The curtains in the front window were open and warm light spilt through the glass and onto the frosty lawn. The boy could see a family on the other side of that glass, seated around the dining table. They were talking and laughing, listening to each other talk about their day. On the front porch, Jack-O-Lanterns carved by the two blond brothers were starting to rot. Orange lights still twisted around the railing. Soon, they would be replaced by large, colourful Christmas lights and in that window would be a grand Christmas tree. 

The boy stared at the family from where he stood in the cold darkness. For a moment, he imagined himself sitting at that dining table; his stomach warm and full, his eyes bright with excitement as his mother brought out dessert and laughing at something his father said. The boy turned away from the glowing window quickly and continued down the dark road. 

When he got home, his parents yelled at him for not calling to tell them where he was or when he’d be home. The boy leaned against the wall in the front hallway, his eyes on the floor as they yelled at him. He thought of the warm window, he thought of the sweet chocolate egg and the man with the sharp smile. When his parents had enough with yelling at them, they began to yell at each other. The boy slipped away from them and darted downstairs to the basement. He threw himself onto the couch, his face pressed into the old, faded fabric. Tears soaked into the couch. 

A cold hand suddenly appeared on the boy’s back, rubbing gentle circles. 

“It’s alright… You don’t need any of them. You’re better than all of them.” 

“Better than all of them…” the boy whispered. 

“Yes. Do you want to know how I know?” 

The boy slowly raised his head to look up at the man with the sharp smile. He nodded. 

The man leaned down towards him. His breath smelled like sulfur. 

“Because you are made from the soul of a God…” the man smiled. His sharp teeth glinted in the dim light. The boy blinked, his eyes impossibly wide as he stared up the man. “I have a present for you.” 

“A-A present?” 

The man reached into his heavy, navy blue coat. The front had holes; holes made from a blade. The man pulled out a knife, holding it to the boy with a sharp smile. 

“T-That’s my dad’s knife!” 

“No, it’s not. It’s yours,” the man said firmly. “I want you to keep it safe for me. You can do that, can’t you?” 

The boy nodded. 

The man smiled. “You’re a good, special boy.” 

His words rang in the boy’s head. 

They continued to ring his head as fall turned into winter and a thin layer of snow blanketed the world. 

They rang in his head when his parents' fighting got worse and worse and he hid in the darkness of the basement, the man’s gentle, cold hug keeping him safe. 

They rang in his head as he slowly began to move his things down to the basement; it was the only place he felt safe. 

They rang in his head when his mother suddenly left and his father began to sleep on the couch in the living room. 

They rang in his head when his older siblings complained of a darkness haunting their house; they wanted to leave but the boy felt safe. 

They rang in his head one cold afternoon as his friends kicked a boy named Francis till he bled on the cold, frosty road. The boy stared down at the fiery-haired boy; it felt oddly good to stand over him though he wasn’t sure why. 

The words rang in his head when he dreamed of cold, bloody meat on a tin plate. 

The boy was now fourteen years old and it was the summer before his first year of high school. In the back of his mind was always the man’s words and in his pocket was always his knife. That warm afternoon, he wandered down the road, the warm ocean breeze whispering through the leaves overhead. He found himself on the main street, nearing the church with every step. 

The boy suddenly stopped. 

At the end of the road, coming towards him were two boys on their bikes. Their voices echoed around the quiet street. 

“I can’t stand them,” the man whispered in the boy’s ear, his sulphuric breath floating around him. “You should teach them a lesson for being so loud.” 

“A lesson?” the boy repeated. “Like what?” The man’s smile only widened. The boy glanced down at the sidewalk and the pebbles that dotted the cement. He knelt down, picking up a handful of rocks. 

The boys on their bikes were getting closer. 

The boy threw the rocks at the first boy; a metallic ringing echoing through the air as they crashed against his bike. The boy screamed as he tried to stop but his front brake was broken. The boy went over his handlebars and landed hard on the pavement. His pained screams echoed around the street. 

“Dundy!” James cried as he jumped off his bike, letting it crash to the pavement. He fell to his knees beside his friend, carefully helping him sit up. The crying boy clutched his limp right wrist. 

The boy turned and broke into a run before anyone could notice him, sprinting down a small alley behind the church. Henry’s wails of pain followed him. 

The boy ran until he got home, sprinting up the front porch steps and throwing open the screen door. He hurried inside, stumbling down the hall to the basement steps. He quickly closed the door and jumped down the stairs, only stopping when he reached the bottom. The boy tripped over his ratty shoelace and fell to the carpet. He heaved for air. 

Slowly, he pushed himself up and sat against the wall. His long, ginger hair curled around his ears. 

He wasn’t sure if it was adrenaline or fear that was racing through him.

He looked up at the man who smiled at him. 

“Why did you make me do that?” 

“I didn’t make you do anything. You threw those rocks at that boy because you wanted to.” 

“You told me to teach them a lesson. Like how we taught Francis a lesson last winter!” 

“I didn’t say how. You didn’t have to break Mr Le Vesconte’s arm.” 

The boy scowled up at him. 

“Besides,” the man smiled. “They deserved it.” 

“What did Henry do to you?” the boy snapped. The man’s smile wavered. “What about James? They didn’t do anything to you. Why would they?” The man suddenly lunged towards the boy, gripping his t-shirt collar tightly in his hand. 

“That’s just it… isn’t it?” the man snarled. “They didn’t do anything. They lied to us. They hid the truth from us because Mr Crozier thought it was the right thing to do.” He spat out the words, making the boy flinch. “They hid the fact that we were all going to die a horrible, lonely death until it was too late. That’s a crime, little boy. That’s a crime that should be punished.” 

“I-I don’t understand,” the boy whimpered. “James doesn’t even talk to me! I’m a nobody to him!” 

“A nobody?” the man repeated. 

“Even that Francis Crozier kid doesn’t care! Why should I?” the boy cried. “What crime are you talking about?” 

The man’s grip tightening on his collar. 

The basement suddenly melted away and the boy found himself standing in a dimly lit, cold room. The hiss of oil in the lanterns was the only sound. The boy glanced down at himself, his striped t-shirt, old denim shorts and running shoes now replaced with heavy wool and golden buttons. His hands were wrapped in warm, fingerless gloves and his shoes had become heavy leather boots. His ginger hair, however, was still neatly slicked back from his pointed face. The boy blinked as he looked around the cold room. 

Sitting on the other side of the table in front of him, was two men in dark, navy blue uniforms. They stared at the boy. The tall man’s eyes were dark and almost challenging, while the other man leaned his head in his hand, his piercing gaze narrowed on the boy. A third man stood behind him, his hands curled in fists. 

The boy wanted to turn and flee from the room but he was held in place by the man with the sharp smile. 

“Don’t you remember? I know you do, deep, deep down, you remember this moment,” the man said in his ear. The boy shook his head. “We did something very good for them and their cause,” the man said. 

“We…?” the boy whispered. 

“You and me,” the man said. “I told you, you are made from the soul of a God. You are made from me. We are the same.”

“I didn’t think…” 

“Think what? That I wasn’t serious? I’m very serious, little boy,” the man said, his grip tightening on the boy’s shoulders. “We risked our life and what did we get in return? Pain and humiliation. And Mr Fitzjames here… he did nothing to help you when Mr Crozier passed the sentence. His friend’s broken arm now is meaningless compared to the pain that he allowed to be inflicted on us.” 

“They are Captains…” the boy whispered. “Who were we?” 

Once more the room melted away but this time, it was a loud pub that he found himself standing in. His suit was faded and threadbare in places. His hat was worn; fished from the trash when he was younger. Men around him talked loudly, their drinks sometimes spilling onto the stained floorboards. 

“It depends on who you ask,” the man said with a smile. “What is your name, boy?” 

“Cornelius Hickey…” the boy whispered. “That’s my name.” 

“It’s the name I gave you,” the man said with a smile. “And it’s the name I… Borrowed,” the man added with a sly smile. 

“Borrowed? How do you borrow a name?” the boy asked innocently. The man smiled sharply. 

“Go outside,” the man said. The boy frowned. Slowly, he turned and made his way outside, finding himself on a busy street; wagons being pulled by tired horses, drunks meandering down the cobblestone road and women waving at those who passed by. The boy took it all in with wide eyes; this world was the kind of thing he had only seen in movies. He could smell the salty harbour, meat cooking and smoke, tobacco and horse shit. “This way,” the man whispered, pulling his hand and leading him down a dark alley. 

Suddenly, they stopped. 

The boy stood on wet cobblestones, illuminated only by a flickering streetlamp. The fiery glow washed over him and the body that lay on the cobblestones. The boy screamed, stumbling backwards. He fell to the cobblestones, gasping in fear. “What did you do?” the boy wailed. The man wrapped his arms around the boy, obscuring his view of the body. 

“Survival is a nasty piece of business. We do what we have to do,” the man with the sharp smile whispered. The boy clung to him tightly, his nails digging into the wool of his coat. The boy closed his tear-filled eyes. 

“W-What happened to us?” 

The man sighed. “We died, little boy. We all die in the end, that’s nothing to be upset about. But the way we died… Well…”

A shockingly cold wind swept around them and whistled over the hard rocks the boy now sat on. When he opened his eyes, he saw blood and gore strewn across the rocks. A dead, strange bear-like creature stared at him with lifeless eyes. 

For a moment, he thought they were human eyes. 

“We could have avoided all of this if it weren’t for Francis fucking Crozier!” the man yelled, the wind catching his voice and carrying it across the rocks. “It all could have been so much better… So much better. But here we are; bones bleaching in the wind.” The boy stared up at him with wide eyes. “But you, little boy. You’re alive and you are every bit just like me, back from the grave. You can help me, little boy,” the man said as he knelt down in front of him, gripping his shoulders tightly. 

“H-Help you?” 

“You’ve been doing such a good job of protecting the knife I gave you. Keep it safe. More than that… use it,” the man smiled. The boy’s eyes widened. “We’ll have our cake and we’ll eat it too. Make those boys town regret ever making that wish. There is no such thing as a happy life.” 

“Wish?” 

“One of these men made a wish; a wish that we all live a happy life. Isn’t that just swell? Well, he forgot about us,” the man smiled at the boy. “If you listen to me, I’ll make you a God too. You won’t be a nobody to anyone ever again.” 

“Do you promise?” the boy asked quietly. The man reached into his heavy navy coat pocket and produced a ruby red wrapped chocolate egg. With a smile, he placed it gently in the boy’s hand. 

“I promise.” 

The boy smiled, his glittering eyes searching the man’s sharp face. 

The cold nothingness faded away, the boy once more finding himself in his basement. The man was gone but the smell of sulphur and blood still lingered in the air. The boy reached into his pocket, slowly retrieving the knife. His smile widened. His grip tightened on the chocolate egg. 

He would listen, he would become a God. 

He would finally be respected in this hellhole of a town. 

He shoved Tom Hartnell in a locker and left him there till a teacher finally came running with the key. He taunted Harry Goodsir; a boy too kind for his own good. He tripped James Fitzjames in the hall and ripped up one of Francis Crozier’s essays before he could hand it in. He pushed Thomas Jopson during gym class, leaving the boy with bruised, bloody knees from his fall to the gravel. He stole John Irving’s lunch and left him with the garbage. He laughed when his friends beat up Henry Le Vesconte and snarled when he pulled his knife on Edward Little in the back alleyway behind the movie theatre. He smiled when Tozer blackened James’s eye and howled when he smashed the windows of the doctor’s office, pieces of glass flying through the night air. 

The kids in town learned to give him space, scurrying to get out of his way as he walked down the hallways at school. By the time he was a senior in high school, he had Harry Goodsir writing his essays and the ever so popular James Fitzjames hurrying to get away from him whenever he saw him; he didn’t have Francis to hide behind now that the intimidating older boy had left for university. 

The seventeen-year-old boy smiled at the thought as he leaned his head against the headrest of the passenger seat in Tozer’s old blue convertible. Smoke from the cigarette between his fingers coiled around him and drifted upwards in the warm September breeze. The car was parked by the ocean, the sound of the waves soothing to the boy as he propped his legs up on the dashboard of the convertible. Tozer was quick to smack his feet off. 

“Do you know how hard it is to clean your boot prints off this thing?” Tozer snapped. The boy smiled sharply and placed his feet back up on the dashboard. Tozer scowled as the boy took a drag from his cigarette. “I’m guessing you don’t want to go back to school after lunch.” 

“Do you?” the boy asked as he blew the swirling smoke out. Tozer shook his head as he leaned back in his seat. He glanced at the boy, his bright eyes lingering on him for a moment. The boy pretended not to notice. He reached for Tozer’s lighter, flicking it on. He watched the small flame. “Billy said there is going to be a concert in the city tomorrow night. We should go - What the fuck are you doing?” 

The boy had raised the flame to his tongue. 

Tozer snatched his lighter away from him. 

“I’m a god.” 

“Shut up.”

The boy smiled. 

How he longed to tell Tozer the truth but the man had made him swear to never tell. Besides, the boy couldn’t deny that he liked knowing so much about everyone in town that they didn’t know; it was his secret. 

Tozer finished the last of his grape soda and crumpled the can in his hand. The boy leaned his head back and took another drag from his cigarette, the smoke swirling around him. Seagulls flew overhead, their calls echoing across the beach. A sailboat bobbed on the waves in the distance. 

“Oh shit,” Tozer suddenly said, his eyes on the rearview mirror. The boy opened his eyes, turning in his seat to see a police car coming towards them. “We’re not supposed to be here.” 

“Drive then,” the boy ordered. Tozer stared at him with wide eyes. 

“I can’t just fucking drive off now, Hickey!” 

“Yes, you can! Drive!” the boy yelled. Tozer grit his teeth as he shifted gears and stepped on the gas, the engine roaring as the car suddenly sped down the sandy road. The boy laughed, dropping his still burning cigarette to the road. He glanced back at the police car, it's lights now flashing and the siren wailing. The car sped down the road, faster than Tozer had thought it could go. He found himself smiling like a child on a roller coaster, the wind whipping wildly around them. 

The boys screamed as Tozer turned the wheel suddenly, the car screeching wildly around a corner. Dust flew through the September air. The blue convertible raced down the quiet street, past sleepy houses full of sleepy ghosts. The police car kept close to the teenagers, it’s red and blue lights flickering in the rearview mirror. 

“Drive, drive!” the boy laughed wildly. 

“I’m fucking driving!” Tozer yelled back, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. 

“Take this next turn!” the boy yelled, slapping at Tozer’s arm as he looked back at the cop car. Tozer did as he was told, the blue convertible racing around the corner onto a quiet street. 

Over the roar of the engine, a train horn could be heard echoing through the fall air. At the end of the road, the red lights at a rail crossing were beginning to flash. 

“Hickey!” Tozer cried in panic. 

“It’s okay! Just keep going!” the boy cried. 

He wasn’t going to let them die. 

The car raced towards the crossing. 

The freight train hurtled around the corner, it’s bright light blinding even in the daylight. 

The blue convertible sped over the rails and onto the other side, just missing the red and white striped bars as they began to close. The boy let out a howling cry, adrenaline shooting through his body. Tozer laughed, glancing at the boy with wide eyes. 

“How did you… What the fuck?” Tozer laughed. 

“I told you! I’m a God!” the boy yelled over the roaring engine as the convertible continued to race down the quiet road. 

They finally came to a stop on a quiet dead-end road just outside of town, the blue convertible skidding to a stop. The two boys gasped for air. Neither of them had ever felt so alive. Tozer glanced up at the red-haired boy who looked up at him; breathless and smiling widely. 

Before Tozer could say anything, the boy had gripped his head in his hands and pressed his lips against his in a sweaty, grape-soda sweet kiss. When he broke away, Tozer was staring at him with impossibly wide eyes.

The boy smiled and kissed him again. 

The ocean breeze picked up, whispering through the trees around them. 

Those lush green leaves soon began to turn into dead falling leaves. Once more, Jack-O-Lanterns appeared on front porches and orange lights hung in the trees. The younger kids worried about what they wanted to dress up as this year while the older kids just wondered about which party they should go to. 

On Halloween night, the boy found himself once more in Tozer’s car, the group of boys driving around town with no real destination in mind. 

The boy sat on top of the backseat, a baseball bat gripped tightly in his hand. His cheap vampire cape fluttered behind him as the blue convertible drove down the quiet street. Billy sat by his leg, dressed as a lion, his costume clearly meant for a younger kid but the boy had thought it was cute and emphasised his point with a cigarette tainted kiss. Beside him, Magnus, a black hooded cape pulled up over his head, watched the quiet, dark houses pass by with a bored look in his eyes. In the front passenger seat, Hodgson, dressed up as a zombie, tapped his hand against the side of the car in time to the music playing from the stereo. Tozer glanced back at Hickey, the red ribbon of the top hat on his head glinting in the orange light. He smiled, the plastic fangs in his mouth digging into his gums. 

“This one!” the boy said as he lifted the baseball bat. Tozer stepped on the gas, the quaint mailbox in front of an old farmhouse coming towards them. The boy swung the bat, the wooden mailbox exploding into pieces under the force. The boy laughed. 

“Jesus,” Hodgson muttered. 

“Boo, Hodgson,” the boy rolled his eyes. “If you’re gonna be such a loser maybe we should kick you out.” 

“I’m not a loser.” 

“Then you smash the next one,” the boy taunted, holding the bat out to him. 

“I don’t want to.” 

“L-O-S-E-R!” 

“Okay!” Hodgson cried, yanking the bat from the boy’s hand. The car approached the next mailbox. The boy watched as Hodgson weakly tried to hit the box. A second swing sent the box flying. The boy smiled. The car sped off, the engine roaring. 

Sliding back down into his seat, the boy leaned his head in his arms against the side of the convertible. 

The car sped past a quiet house. Warm light spilled from the front window. Two blond brothers sorted through their Halloween candy on the dining room table. 

In the convertible, breathing in the cool ocean air as it whipped around him, the boy thought of ruby red foil wrapped around the sweetest chocolate egg; a blood-red jam at its centre. 

The Jack-O-Lanterns were soon replaced with tinsel and the orange lights became red, green, white and icy blue. Frost and snow dusted the ground. 

On Christmas eve, the boy laid alone in his basement, barely watching the old movie on the old television. Huddled on the couch that had become his bed, he stared blankly at the screen. 

A hand reached over the couch and gently rested on his shoulder. 

“Merry Christmas, little boy,” the man with the sharp smile said gently. The boy glanced up at him with a small smile. 

“Merry Christmas...” the boy breathed. 

Christmas day passed like any other. On New Year's Eve, he rushed to Tozer’s house, nearly slipping on the ice several times. His long scarf wrapped around his neck and dangling down his back swung back and forth as he ran. 

The boys watched movies until only a few minutes before midnight. They rushed outside, their breath fogging around them. At midnight, fireworks burst into the dark night sky. The boy smiled brightly, his eyes glowing as he watched the colourful sparks shot through the cold night air. 

Early that morning, the boy finally fell asleep huddled on the floor in a mess of blankets, pillows and sleeping bags, his face pressed against Tozer’s back. 

As much as he wished that night could last forever, the holidays soon ended and they found themselves back at the school, the final semester of their high school careers beginning with a yawn and a nodding head as the boy tried to stay awake in his English class. 

January passed in a tired haze. 

February ended with blood on the snow. 

It was a cold day, frost lingering on the windows and ice covering the ground. The boy heaved angrily for air as he stared down as James Fitzjames who had fallen to the icy ground out front of the school, blood oozing from his nose. 

Beside him lay a postcard from Francis Crozier.

A valentine, the boy thought. 

“Are you going to get up?” the boy sneered at James. The tall boy gritted his teeth as he pressed his hand against his nose. Blood oozed into his navy blue fingerless glove. Slowly, the boy got to his feet. Blood dripped onto the ice. He swung his fist at the boy who saw it coming. He jumped out of the way. James kicked at him, his boot ramming into the boy’s leg. The boy gasped in pain as he stumbled back. He snarled as he lunged at James, shoving him hard. James grabbed onto his sleeves, dragging the boy down with him to the icy pavement. 

“Mr Fitzjames! Mr Hickey!” a teacher cried as she ran towards them. She grabbed onto James, hauling him off the shorter boy. “Detention! Both of you!” James sneered at the boy as he picked up his fallen postcard. He turned away from him without saying a word. 

“Detention…” the man with the sharp smile laughed quietly in the boy’s ear. “If this was your first life, it’d have been a whipping. Be grateful you just have to sit in silence for an hour.” 

“Shut up,” the boy muttered darkly. He stomped after James, back inside the quiet school. 

The man with the sharp smile watched him, his eyes narrowing. 

The snow began to melt and Spring soon followed, breathing life into the little town. Bulbs burst through the frozen earth and birds once more began to sing from the trees. Each day was warmer than the last. 

The end of the school year came faster than anyone could have expected. 

Sitting at his desk in his homeroom, the boy stared down at the sheet of paper on which he would write his yearbook quote. He chewed on the end of his pencil as he thought. He thought of the man with the sharp smile and the vast, cold nothingness and the unforgiving rocks. He thought about the pieces of cold, ruby-red meat. He thought about the promise the man had made him. He lowered his pencil to the page. 

_ A change of everything.  _

The boy smiled. 

Later that night, he found himself staring up at the front window of a quiet house. Warm light spilled from the dining room where teenagers gathered around the table, snacking and pouring spiked punch into red plastic cups. The boy stared at the front window, watching as two blond brothers yelled at a boy to get off the expensive dining table. 

“Come on, Hickey,” Billy said, grabbing his hand and pulling him up the stairs. They pushed their way inside the house. They soon had drinks in their hands and the music was thudding in their ears.

“I didn’t think the Hartnell’s had such a nice place,” Tozer called over the music as he sat down in one of the plush armchairs in the living room. The boy stared through the window at the backyard and the long dock out onto the calm ocean. 

Something shattered in the other room. 

Someone was dancing on the coffee table. 

Someone else was crying while someone else howled with laughter. 

A reflection in the glass caught the boy’s eye. 

He turned, watching as Harry Goodsir struggled to lead James Fitzjames towards the front door, the tall boy stumbling, his shoulders trembling. Harry glanced back over his shoulder, his dark eyes meeting the boy’s. The boy watched as he turned away, quickly leading James outside. 

“He knows,” the man with the sharp smile whispered in his ear. “He knows the truth…” 

“What do we do?” 

“I’ll take care of him.” 

The boy frowned. 

“How?” 

The man with the sharp smile didn’t answer for he had disappeared as Billy reached for the boy, pulling him away from the window. 

He almost forgot about the man with the sharp smile’s panic and he just might have forgotten about it completely had it not been for Tozer waking up him with his screams a few nights later. The boy had bolted from the couch and hurried up the stairs, the other boys close behind. In his right hand was his knife. 

Tozer pointed with a shaking hand at the window beside the front door, the porch light streaming through the glass and spilling onto the floor; the water and shards of glass glinting in the orange glow. The boy followed his tear-filled gaze. In the window, the man with the sharp smile stared at him. 

Blood oozed from his smile. 

The memory of the body on the cobblestones and the cold meat on tin plates flashed through the boy’s mind. 

“There is no one there,” Magnus said, his brow furrowed with confusion. The boy reached for Tozer who was still trembling, pulling him into a gentle hug. 

“You’re okay…” the boy whispered as the taller boy pressed his head against his shoulder. “There isn’t anything out there that can hurt you.” He glanced up at the window and the man with the bloody smile. Anger boiled in his chest. 

The silver blade in the boy’s hand glinted in the dim light. 

They managed to get Tozer back downstairs. The boy laid down beside him, pulling the blanket over them gently.

“He looked like the devil…” Tozer whispered. The boy shook his head. 

“You’re safe, Tozer.” 

“How do you know? He was at your front door…” Tozer gasped, completely unaware that the man with the bloody smile was slowly making his way down the basement steps. The boy pulled him close, wrapping his arms around his head to hide the bloody figure from his view. 

“You’re safe,” the boy repeated again. Tozer was quiet, sleep slowly catching back up to him. The boy held him close, closing his eyes to ignore the man with the bloody smile. 

His cold fingers on his arm were slowly becoming impossible to ignore. 

The boy suddenly opened his eyes and rolled to hit the man but stopped when he found himself sitting on a muddy forest floor. He could hear waves crashing onto rocks. Overhead, the sky was slowly starting to brighten with the rising sun. A few stars still fought to shine in the dawn. 

The boy got to his feet, his gaze on the edge of the cliff nearby. 

Slowly, he made his way towards the edge, the hem of his pyjamas dragging in the dirt. Nervously, he pulled his knife from his pocket, clutching it tightly in his hand as he leaned over the edge. 

Laying on the black rocks was Harry, soaked from the sea spray. His yellow raincoat had turned a vile reddish-orange in places from the blood that was slowly soaking down the dark, merciless rocks and dripping into the waves. 

The boy fell back from the edge, his left hand pressed against his mouth to fight back his scream. 

“The tide will wash him away soon,” the man with the bloody smile said. “For now, our little secret is safe.” 

“What did you do?” the boy screamed as he whirled around, throwing the knife in his hand at the man. 

The blade stuck in his chest. 

The boy’s eyes widened as he stared at what he had done. Blood blossomed on the man’s white shirt. The man’s bloody smile widened. ‘

“I told you what I did, I took care of him. Besides, I was hungry,” the man snarled as he yanked the blade from his chest, dark blood splattering onto the forest floor. “I’m so goddamn hungry, little boy!” 

“H-Hungry…” the boy gasped, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Yes. Gods get hungry too and we can’t just eat anything, little boy. We need souls, little souls like you,” the man with the bloody smile snapped. The boy stared at him, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Harry Goodsir would have tried to destroy us and I wasn’t going to let him do that again!” 

“Why did you have to scare Tozer?” the boy demanded, his tone laced with rage. The man narrowed his dark eyes at him. “How dare you scare my friends!” the boy yelled. 

A sudden force grabbed the boy and threw him against a tree, the force knocking the air from his lungs. The man with the bloody smile narrowed his eyes darkly at him. 

“Don’t forget who you are, little boy. You might be a part of me but do not think that I would favour you above all else. I could eat you too if I wanted to,” the man said as he took a step towards the boy, still pinned to the tree. “You aren’t a God.” 

“You promised…” the boy gasped. 

The man only smiled, blood oozing between his teeth. 

“Please,” the boy whimpered. 

“So long as you do as you’re told,” the force dropped the boy, sending him crashing to the dirt. The man held his knife out to him. “Keep it safe, little boy. If someone like Mr Crozier gets their hands on it… there is no telling what might happen. It could be the end for us.” 

“The end…” 

“Do you promise you’ll keep it safe? Perhaps you should stop throwing it around,” the man laughed. 

“I-I promise…” 

“People will ask you if you saw little Harry Goodsir. You’ll tell them that you haven’t, that you don’t know where he is or what happened to him. Promise?” 

“I promise.” 

“Goodsir left a little trail. More people will find out about us and the truth, little boy. We need to be prepared for when that happens. Do you understand what must be done?” 

“I understand…” 

“I knew I could trust you, little boy. You are me, after all.” The man’s bloody smile widened.

Tears slipped down the boy’s cheeks.

When he awoke, he tried to tell himself it was all just a bad dream. He reached for Tozer, his arm wrapping around him tightly. He could hear the rain pattering against the old house. 

It was just a bad dream, he told himself. 

Yet by noon that day, the whole town had heard that Harry Goodsir had disappeared. 

By the middle of the afternoon, the man with the bloody smile suddenly appeared in the rearview mirror of Tozer’s convertible and it drove lazily down the winding road. His eyes were dark and furious. The boy stared at the reflection; someone else knew. 

The boy took a deep, shaking breath. 

He wondered what souls tasted like; would the man with the bloody smile make him eat one? 

The convertible pulled into the parking lot near the pier. The beach was now crowded with people; officers and volunteers in the search parties. The boy thought of the stolen money in the pocket of his heavy coat. He hadn’t even thought that the forgotten things on the beach might be Harry’s. 

“We should tell someone that we were here last night,” Billy said quietly. “He’s been missing for a while.” 

“No. We don’t have to tell anyone shit,” the boy said sharply. Tozer glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Billy’s brow furrowed. 

“But we touched his stuff… it was all there last night-” 

“We’re not saying anything to anyone,” the boy said as he turned in his seat to look back at Billy. “We didn’t do anything, Billy.” The boy turned to look back at the pier and the rolling waves that blended into the grey, moody sky. “Let's go on the pier,” the boy said, abruptly getting out of the car before anyone could protest. They scrambled to get out of the car, hurrying after the boy as he walked towards the pier, his coat billowing around him. He stared at the yellow tape and the bike laying in the sand where he had left it. 

The wooden boards creaked and groaned under their shoes. 

It didn’t take long for Francis Crozier to find them, the boy pedalling James Fitzjames’s stupidly big blue bicycle down the pier towards them, his friends close behind. The boy knew what to say; he knew what to do. 

Survival is a nasty piece of business after all. He would do what he had to do.

Nothing had ever sounded more satisfying to him than the sound of the boards breaking as he kicked them, sending the older boy falling to the frigid waves below. 

Nothing was more bewildering than James Fitzjames’s pounding footsteps on the pier as he ran towards the broken railing and jumped. The boy watched him, dumbfounded. 

Nothing was more terrifying than the sound his knife made when it skidded across the wooden boards and fell through the crack into the cold, dark waves. The boy hit the wooden planks, anger and terror rising inside of him. 

He got up to yell at the girl who had rammed her boot into his nose and the stupid boy he had tried to slice open with that very knife but the two of them were already running down the pier towards the beach to help James as he flailed in the waves, one arm wrapped tightly around Francis. 

The boy stared but all he saw was the blood between the man with the bloody smile’s teeth, pieces of meat on a tin plate and Harry Goodsir laying on the wet, merciless rocks, his blood dripping into the dark, hungry ocean. 

“We should get out of here,” Tozer said as he helped the boy to his feet. They lingered for a moment, watching as the doctor tried to revive the fiery-haired boy. Tozer tugged his arm and they continued back to the car. 

“I-I have to get it back…” the boy tried to protest, his voice weak. “I have to get my knife back…” 

“I can buy you a new one,” Tozer tried to reassure him. The boy shook his head. 

“He’s going to kill me.” 

“Your dad? No, he’s not. Don’t freak out.” 

The boy was silent as he let Tozer help him into the car. He pressed a napkin against his bleeding nose. 

Tozer didn’t understand. The boy doubted that he ever would. 

They drove back to the boy’s house, no one saying a word. They glanced nervously at the boy, as though each one of them could feel his fear. The convertible slowly pulled into the driveway of the old house. The boy got out, his hands trembling. 

“Hickey,” Billy said as he started to get out of the car. 

“Don’t. Just leave me alone,” the boy snapped. Billy flinched back into the car. The boy turned and silently made his way up the front steps and inside the old, dark house. The door had barely begun to close before he sank to the floor, his arms wrapping tightly around his legs. “I-I’m sorry… it’s not my fault… It’s not my fault,” the boy sobbed, his shoulders trembling with fear. 

“I know it’s not, little boy,” the man with the sharp smile said as he knelt down in front of the crying seventeen-year-old boy. “But you still lost it.” 

“I’m sorry!” the boy sobbed. “I’ll find it. I’ll find it, I swear!” 

“It’s alright, I already found it,” the man smiled as he pulled the knife from his heavy, navy blue coat pocket. The boy’s eyes widened as he pressed it into his hands. “Besides, I have an even better plan now, little boy. If they all want to know the truth so badly, let them learn. Curiosity killed the cat,” the man smiled, his teeth glinting in the dim light. The boy stared at him, his hands shaking. “For this plan to work though, I’m going to need your help. I need you to find something for me, a beautiful spyglass that was once owned by a rather dashing naval officer. It’s in the library.” 

“I-I can do that,” the boy stammered. 

“Good. Don’t worry little boy, soon you’ll be the one kicking them in the face. You’ll be the God of this little town and we’re going to have a feast to celebrate,” the man smiled, blood oozing between his teeth. The boy found himself smiling too, the taste of his own blood on his tongue. It reminded him of strawberries. 

The hungry boy would eat them all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wasn't originally going to write this chapter from Hickey's point of view. I wasn't even going to do his pov at all because I found it challenging and I liked the idea of it being mysterious. However, I got a comment (from thisaintnoparty) wondering about Hickey and it really got me thinking about it so I had to write it! This chapter was really hard because, like Francis, I wanted this pov to be perfect.  
> Also, I'm really sorry this wasn't up earlier today. It's been pretty rough today and focusing has been hard so if I made any mistakes editing, please feel to let me know.  
> Anyways, thank you all so so much for your love and comments. It really means a lot. I'm so excited for next week's chapter!!!


	4. the liminal space

“Francis… Please say something.” 

James Fitzjames’s hands curled into fists, his knuckles pressed against the rough, rocky harbour wall the two boys sat on top of. Their feet dangled against the wall, the occasional splash of saltwater reaching up towards them and splattering onto their running shoes. Below their feet were dark, merciless rocks, wet from the cold waves. 

James stared at Francis who was silent, his distant gaze locked on the book resting on his lap. It was open to a drawing of the  _ HMS Terror  _ trapped in ice as white as the curtains in Francis’s bedroom window where the small model version of this very ship was resting on the sill. The boy pressed his fingers against the drawing, tracing the inky black lines with his fingertip. 

James could barely tell if he was breathing under his chunky orange sweatshirt he wore under denim overalls, the buckles glinting in the sunlight. Like always, he had rolled up the hem of his pant legs, revealing dark navy blue socks that stuck out from the top of his green running shoes, the white laces loose and dangling towards the waves below. The boy said nothing as he traced his finger over the drawing; over the ice that had trapped his ship. 

“F-Francis…” James said, fidgeting with the hem of his blue and white striped t-shirt. “I know it’s a lot. And I should have told you all of this so much sooner. I was just so… scared, overwhelmed, whatever you want to call it. And I’m sure it must be a lot for you considering you were our captain. I was scared to tell you because of your dreams. Those must be memories of what happened and-” 

“James,” Francis said quietly. The tall boy stared at him with wide eyes. Francis kept his attention on the drawing, his finger tracing over the masts. James glanced down at the drawing. He fidgeted even more with the hem of his t-shirt. 

The silence felt heavy between them. 

A wave crashed against the rocks below them. 

James turned to look at the boats in the harbour, watching a group of fishers walk down the dock. He turned back to Francis. 

“Captain James…The original version of me… He didn’t want me to tell you anything at all. He said that telling you would make you a target for Hickey….but I think you already were because well you know. I had to tell you though, it felt wrong to not tell you, the captain!” James laughed. 

He wanted to throw himself off the harbour wall. 

Instead, he kept talking. 

“I-I figured out a way to talk to Captain James. See, he was the ghost in my house this whole time! I feel really bad for being so scared of him. Anyways, I used dowsing rods and he can use them to answer yes or no questions! And he can do something way cooler. He can show me his memories. I guess they are our memories. I saw the ship he captained before the _ Erebus. _ And he told me that-” 

“James,” Francis said again, more firmly this time. 

The tall boy closed his mouth. 

James glanced up, his dark gaze falling past Francis to the tall captain who sat on the wall beside Francis, the gold ribbon around his hat glinting in the sunlight. Captain James narrowed his dark eyes at his younger self, his frustration rolling around him in waves. 

“Captain James is here with us right now,” James suddenly said. Captain James pressed his face into his gloved hands. “He’s really mad at me because I told you. I think he should have known I was gonna say something, I don’t get why he’s so upset.” 

Captain James rolled his eyes. 

James reached for Francis’s hand, holding it tightly. “It’s scary, I understand. What we went through was worse than hell. What we saw, the things we did… It was worse than hell. But I’m still right here. I-I… I never left you, Francis.” The older boy stared at his hand in James’s. 

Francis turned away from James, his eyes scanning the quiet path behind them. 

“C-Captain James is here?” Francis whispered. 

The tall boy’s reassuring smile slipped from his face as a jolt of jealousy shot through him. He let go of Francis’s hand. 

“Beside you,” James muttered. 

Francis stared at the empty spot beside him. His eyes were wide and glassy with tears. Slowly, he placed his hand on the cold stone; frigid almost despite the warm sunlight that washed over them. He thought of the tall man with a gold ribbon like a halo around his hat that had followed him from dream to dream, there to pull him back when it became too much, there to hold him close, there to keep him company in the cold, vast white nothingness. 

Captain James Fitzjames stared down at the young Francis Crozier, his cold hand hovering just above his. He smiled despite the tears that were welling up in his dark eyes. 

The teenaged James Fitzjames sitting to the left of Francis scowled, his head resting in his hand. 

After a moment, James cleared his throat. Francis turned to look back at him. 

“Captain James… He appeared in my dreams a lot,” Francis finally said. “He protected me.” 

“I know,” James said quietly, his eyes on his shoes. 

“I’ve seen some very horrible things in my dreams, James. All my life I told myself that that was all they were; dreams,” Francis explained as he looked down at the book. He gripped it tightly. “But they were memories all along.” 

“What did you see?” James whispered. Francis shook his head. “Tell me, Francis. What do you remember?” 

“Blood,” Francis choked out. “I could smell it. And I could smell bodies… burning. And I remember you…” Francis turned to look at Captain James. The boy took a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the rocks. He opened his mouth but no words came. He gripped the book tightly. 

James frowned. 

_ What do you remember about me?  _

James swallowed the words down. 

“And I remember… I remember the cold. It hurt. It hurt so bad, James,” Francis said as he turned back to the tall boy. 

This time it was Francis who reached for James’s hand.

“I still feel it when I wake up. It’s so cold,” Francis said, his voice shaking. James gripped Francis’s hand tightly. “I remember walking… Walking over those rocks. And it seemed like every hour a man would fall.” 

James closed his eyes. He remembered seeing those rocks in that strange vision, remembered seeing Francis, older then, and running towards him. 

He remembered falling. 

James slowly opened his eyes, meeting Francis’s tear-filled gaze. 

“I remember the taste… The taste of flesh,” Francis whispered. “It was so tough to chew…” 

“Slushie?” 

Both of the boys jumped. 

They looked up at Thomas Jopson who was dressed in an old white t-shirt loosely tucked into his high waisted shorts that ended well above his knee. His white socks were neatly pulled up and the laces of his running shoes neatly knotted. He held a ruby red cherry slushie out to the boys. 

Francis paled and shook his head. 

“Thanks,” James said as he took the slushie. He took a long sip, not sure of what to say to Francis. He only stopped when a loud suction noise echoed from the red plastic straw. 

“You’ve seen Hickey? The man with the bloody smile, as you call him?” Francis asked. James nodded. “I wonder if anyone else has,” Francis breathed as he glanced back at their friends who sat on a bench across the path behind them. He met Silna’s gaze, the girl squished between Edward and Henry whose loud voices echoed around the harbour. “You think he killed Harry?” 

“I know he did,” James said, his mouth full of half-frozen, cherry soda flavoured ice. 

“What is your plan to stop him?” 

“Well… The first step was telling you.” 

“What is step two?” 

“I don’t know yet,” James said before taking another sip from his slushie. Francis frowned. 

“He eats us, our souls. Just because he’s hungry?” Francis thought aloud. 

“Perhaps. But he’s stronger than Captain James is and as far I know, he hasn’t eaten any of us,” James said. 

Captain James made a disgusted face as he shook his head. 

“Perhaps it makes him stronger. That would make sense with how I remember him… I would say he had gone insane by the end but he seemed so…calm. He knew what he was doing or at least, he thought he knew what he was doing,” Francis explained. James’s brow furrowed as he sipped from his ruby-red drink. “He thought he could be like the Tunnbaq… Or that it would accept him.” 

“Well he got part of his wish,” James muttered. 

“Hmm…” Francis nodded. “You said that Harry knew everything? And that he wrote it in his journals?” 

“He did though I think it was his ghost who wrote it for him. You noticed the way the writing changes?” 

“I did.” 

“Harry Goodsir told his younger self everything. It took years, I think, but he did it. I don’t think he told any of us, not even Silna. Perhaps for the same reason that Captain James tried to get me not to tell you. I can’t imagine how he must have felt, going through life and seeing us every day and knowing what we know now…” James trailed off, his eyes starting to sting with tears. 

“He was trying to save us. We’ll finish what he started, hmm?” Francis said reassuringly. James nodded. “There must be something in his journals. If only we could get his last one, he must have written down why he went to that beach.” James glanced down at the red slushie in his hand. Slowly, he turned to look at Thomas who was standing by the bench, sipping from his blue slushie. The boy noticed James staring at him. 

“W-What? Is there something on me?” Thomas panicked, looking down at his shirt. 

“No… You read Harry’s journal that he left on the beach the day he went missing, right?” James asked. “You told me something about me getting sick.” Francis’s eyes widened as he glanced between Thomas and James. Thomas shifted his feet, suddenly awkward now that everyone was staring at him. Edward looked up at him with a frown while Silna waited for his answer. Henry chewed on a stick of red liquorice. 

“I did…” Thomas managed to say. “It was hard to read. I didn’t think anyone still wrote like that,” he laughed. 

“Did Harry say why he went to the beach?” Francis asked as he got up, crossing the path towards them. 

A boy on his skateboard went past, the blue wheels rolling loudly down the pavement. He sat down at the next bench over from them, eager to eat his lunch and enjoy his break before returning to work at the corner store a block away. He glanced at the group of teenagers out of the corner of his eye. 

James got up, sipping from his slushie as he crossed the boardwalk to stand by Francis’s side. Thomas shook his head. 

“I didn’t read all of it. It felt wrong to read it,” Thomas said. 

“So what did you read?” James asked. 

“Why are you asking?” Edward asked as he started to get up but Francis waved his hand at him, the boy awkwardly sitting back down beside Silna. 

“Thomas?” Francis said gently. 

“Well... I read the bit about you, James. And then I remember reading something about… a knife? It was so disjointed like he was writing the answer to a question someone had asked him. I think he said that Hickey has a knife… and there was something else about a spyglass? I can’t say for certain,” Thomas said. “I put it back down after that. It just felt wrong to read it, like there was something in there I wasn’t supposed to know.” 

Francis glanced at James, the two thinking the same thing. 

“Do you think he might have gone to the beach to look for either of those objects?” James asked. 

Thomas shrugged, confusion sprawled across his face. “I don’t know… why?” 

“Harry never talked to you about any of this, Silna?” Francis asked as he turned to her. 

Silna stared up at him. Slowly, she shook her head. 

“What is going on? Do you know something that could help find him?” Henry asked. 

“N-Not quite,” James said quietly. 

Silna narrowed her eyes at him. 

“We might know why he disappeared,” Francis said, surprising James. The teenagers stared at the fiery-haired boy with wide eyes. “None of those objects, the knife or the spyglass were among his things when he disappeared right? So that means he didn’t find them.” 

“So where would they be? And would he want them?” Edward asked. 

“Bridgens told me there was a break-in at the library last night,” James said, ignoring Edward’s question. “I remember seeing something gold, almost brassy in that scary room there. Maybe… Maybe the spyglass was in there if Hickey has the knife.” Francis glanced up at James, his own dream of that dark room flashing through his mind. There was something in there, glinting in the light, that he couldn’t reach. 

“Who would steal a spyglass?” Henry asked with a frown. 

“What’s so important about it?” Thomas asked. Francis looked up at James, wondering if he had an answer. 

James blinked; he didn’t know either. 

But he knew someone who did. 

He could feel Captain James standing behind him, listening intently to the teenagers' conversation as though he were one of them. James glanced along the boardwalk, searching for a place to hide where he could ask Captain James about the objects. 

“Um… Excuse me?” The group of teenagers turned to see the boy who had skateboarded past them looking up at Francis with wide eyes, his dark curly hair messily falling around his face. He clutched his skateboard tightly as he glanced nervously at Francis and James. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop… I wasn’t listening…I normally wouldn’t even sit here; Hickey was hanging around where I normally have lunch. I was just… I heard you say something about a spyglass?” 

“You’re Collins right?” Edward asked. “We had the same science class last year.” 

“Right… We did,” Collins said quietly. He looked down at his shoes as if trying to piece together the right words in his mind before saying them. He took a deep breath and forced himself to look up at Francis. “I think I know where the spyglass is... if it’s the one you’re looking for.” 

“I can’t imagine that there are tons of spyglasses just lying around town,” Henry said with a shrug. 

“Where is it?” James asked. Collins stared at James, or rather, he stared at something behind James. 

“Collins?” Edward asked with a frown. 

“Oh,” Collins jumped. “It’s… It’s in an old house. I didn’t break in or anything… No one lives there. I heard yelling there and I thought someone was hurt or something and when I went in…” the boy trailed off, a distant, disturbed look appearing in his eyes. He took a deep, shaking breath. “When I went in, I found it. I left it there. I didn’t know what it was. I-I could take you there but I only have thirty minutes for my lunch break.” 

“We won’t be long,” Francis said. He glanced at James who nodded. “We’ll find out what's so important about it once we have it.” 

“Shouldn’t we wait for John? We told him we’d be around here,” Thomas asked hesitantly. 

“Irving would have been here by now if he was coming,” Francis said with a shrug. “It’s fine. Will you lead the way, Collins?” he asked the boy who was staring at something behind James again. The boy managed to nod. He set his skateboard down and got on, his wheels coasting gently over the boardwalk. James jumped for his bike, leaving his slushie on the bench. Edward steadied his bike so Silna could climb onto the back pegs. She gripped his shoulders tightly as he started pedalling, Thomas following close behind on his own bicycle. 

“What? Are we all going?” Henry asked, his mouth full of candy. When no one answered him, he stuffed the last of his candy in his mouth and jumped on his bike. 

James pedalled quickly to keep up with Collins. Francis held onto his shoulders tightly. The silver, scratchy letters that spelt out the word  _ Erebus _ on the side of James’s bicycle glinted in the summer sunlight. Francis glanced over his shoulder at the others who followed close behind. 

“It’s weird…” Francis said quietly. 

“What is?” James asked. 

“I look at all of you and I see you. But I also see who we were… It’s so strange. I remember things like going to the movies with you, swimming at the beach and Halloween but in my dreams or my memories, I remember seeing the blood on the snow, I remember the darkness of night that was just never broken by the sunrise and I remember Carnivale…” Francis tried to explain. James gripped the handlebars of his bicycle tightly.

Harry had asked him about Carnivale. 

“For a moment, I forget what's past and what is present,” Francis breathed. 

“I’m present,” James said firmly. “My shoulders under your hands are present. You are present.” The older boy nodded. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of the ocean air. The wind ran her fingers through his orange curls. His grip tightened on the tall boy’s shoulders, feeling a thin t-shirt and warm sun tanned skin freckled from hours spent exploring the woods, swimming at the beach and riding his bicycle. 

There were no golden epaulettes, no sag from exhaustion or a back forced to be straight and at attention. 

Just a boy riding his bicycle and he was just a boy riding on the back. 

Francis glanced back over his shoulder at his friends. They were laughing at Henry who was trying to do a wheelie, his front wheel popping off the ground for just a moment before slamming back down onto the hot pavement. Francis smiled as he turned back to face the road ahead, heat waves rippling off the pavement. 

Collins led them through town, coasting on his skateboard under the freight train bridge and up a little hill, the houses that lined the cracked road becoming older and older. Francis stared at the old houses, their dark, tall windows staring back at him. James gripped his handlebars tightly, trying to ignore the sore pain in his chest. He told himself it was just from the exhaustion of the summer heat and pedalling as fast as he was with Francis standing on the back pegs. 

Collins turned the corner. James’s eyes widened as he realized what street they were on. Collins came to a stop, the boys on their bikes circling him. Francis jumped down from James’s bike, staring up at the black window with wide eyes. 

“Are you serious?” James couldn’t help but say out loud. Collins glanced nervously at him. 

“I’m not going in there,” Henry said as Silna climbed down from the pegs sticking out of the back wheel of Edward’s bike. “I’ll wait out here.” 

“Do you know where the spyglass is in there?” Francis asked as he turned to Collins who nodded. “Can you show us?” Collins hesitated. He looked nervously up at the black window. No light glinted off its pitch dark surface. Slowly, he turned back to Francis. 

“Y-Yeah… if we’re quick,” Collins said with a nod. “There is a way in around the back.” He picked up his skateboard and started across the dead lawn. James got off his bike and hurried after him, walking his bike over the dry grass. Edward hesitated, only following when Thomas pulled on his arm. Silna stayed close to Francis and James, the little polar bear keychain on her backpack swinging back and forth with every step across the dead grass. 

“What are we doing, James?” Henry asked as he caught up to him. 

“Harry was looking for this,” James said quietly, unable to look up at his best friend. 

“Does it have to do with the dead room at the library? And the people I saw in there?” Henry whispered. James looked up at him. The boy’s face was pale with fear. James didn’t have it in his heart to lie to him. Instead, he turned away and kept walking, following Collins around the house. 

Henry watched him. He glanced at the road, wondering if perhaps he should just run away. He turned his gaze back to James. One of his shoelaces was untied. 

Henry took a deep breath and hurried to catch up with James. 

The group of teenagers reached the back porch. James glanced around the backyard. The gardens were dead and skeletal. Even the trees seemed to be dying, their leaves hanging weakly from thin, corpse-like branches. The air felt still and heavy. 

Francis tugged at the back door but it wouldn’t give. Collins frowned. 

“It was open when I was here,” the boy said quietly. 

“How do we get in then?” Thomas asked. 

“Here,” James said, pointing to the broken window. “This is how someone else got in.” 

“You go first,” Henry said nervously. James glanced at the others. None of them stepped forward to volunteer. 

“You guys suck,” James muttered. “Henry, give me a boost.” With a sigh, the silvery blond boy knelt on one knee, his hands resting on his thigh. James stepped up onto his hands, reaching for the window. Once he had a good grip, Henry helped boost him up and through the broken window. The tall boy tumbled through the window and landed hard on the old, rotting floorboards. 

James hissed in pain as his bruised elbow hit the floor. 

“Are you okay, James?” Francis called out. 

“I’m fine. I’ll open the door!” James called back as he managed to sit up. He slowly took in the dark kitchen around him. The white floor was stained and one of the kitchen chairs had been knocked over. 

Slowly, the tall boy stood up. On top of the table was a pyramid of red tin cans; neatly stacked as though someone had left them there for him. James picked up the top can. The once white label was faded and difficult to read. He set the can back down on the table. 

The floorboards overhead creaked. 

James’s heart pounded in his chest. 

It felt cold inside; colder than anything James had ever felt before. 

He shivered as he lowered his gaze from the ceiling. 

Captain James stood on the other side of the table, a confused and nervous look on his pale face. He stared at the tin cans for a moment before he slowly turned to the doorway behind him that led to the rest of the old, freezing house. 

“James?” Francis called out from the other side of the door. The tall boy turned away from his ghostly older self and reached for the door. He gripped the handle and gave it a hard shove. The door suddenly opened, the tall boy stumbling out onto the back porch. 

“I got it,” James smiled. 

When he glanced back inside, his smile wavered. 

Captain James now stood in the doorway, his eyes wide with fear. 

Francis stepped right through Captain James before the tall boy could stop him. James looked nervously up at Captain James who gestured for him to grab Francis and yank him back out but Silna was already stepping past James and walking through the ghost of his older self. 

She shivered, glancing around the kitchen as she hurried to catch up with Francis. 

James sighed and stepped inside; he would just have to protect them. 

The others slowly followed, taking in the rotting kitchen with wide, fearful eyes. 

“It's so cold in here,” Edward muttered, hugging himself. 

“Where is the spyglass?” Francis asked from where he stood by the broken-down refrigerator. 

Silna picked up one of the tin cans, turning it curiously in her hand while Thomas peered over her shoulder. Henry stood behind James, staying close to the open door and the faint ray of sunlight that penetrated the dusty darkness. Collins pointed to the empty doorway that led to the hall. 

“I-In the dining room,” Collins managed to say. 

“Where the black window is?” James asked, glancing nervously at Francis. 

“Yes,” Collins nodded. 

“Fuck that,” Henry said, shaking his head. “If what you are saying is true, that Harry disappeared looking for this old ass artifact, I don’t want to go any farther.”

“Then don’t,” Francis said sharply. Henry flinched back from his words, as if scolded by a parent, a teacher or a captain. 

The fiery-haired boy turned and started through the doorway, the floorboards creaking under his running shoes. He walked through a spiderweb, the silky strands sticking to his overalls. 

James followed close behind. He shivered, his t-shirt and ripped jeans doing nothing to protect him from the heavy cold that hung over the house. It was under his skin, in his bones, in his soul. 

The floorboards overhead creaked.

Thomas reached for Edward’s wrist, holding onto him tightly as they slowly walked down the narrow hallway. 

Silna glanced back at Henry and Collins, the two boys staring up at the ceiling nervously. She curled her hands into fists and hurried after Thomas. 

Francis reached the dining room, cautiously stepping inside. He stared at the black window. The room was almost pitch black, no light coming through the cursed glass. 

“Does anyone have a flashlight?” he asked as he turned back to the nervous teenagers. 

Silna nodded, taking off her backpack. She produced a yellow flashlight from one of the pockets and handed it to Francis. 

The light flickered on. The narrow spotlight drifted over the room. 

There was nothing on the dusty dining room table. 

“There’s nothing here,” James said. 

“I swear! It was here!” Collins stammered. “Well it was but-“ 

“But what?” 

“I think it fell in the water…”

“What water?” 

Before the stammering boy could answer, something fell from the ceiling. 

The teenagers screamed, reaching for each other in their frantic attempt to get out of the room. 

“It’s just a rat!” Francis yelled. 

“Oh fuck this…” Henry gasped, out of breath. 

James slowly let go of Silna’s arm as the rat scurried across the floor and disappeared into the darkness. 

“Are you certain it was this room?” Francis asked Collins who nodded. 

“Maybe someone moved it,” James said. “If they knew someone was looking for it, they’d want to hide it in a better spot than just leaving it on the dining room table.” 

“We should check in the other rooms,” Francis said, shining the flashlight back into the dusty hall. Wallpaper hung loosely from the walls and in some places had been completely ripped off. 

Someone had written the words ‘ _he wants us to run_ ’ on the wall in red spray paint. 

“Do we have to?” Henry sighed. “I think we should get out of here.” 

“We’ll stay together,” Francis said reassuringly. “This is for Harry, remember.” He didn’t wait for Henry’s agreement as he stepped past them into the living room. 

White dusty sheets lay over the old, rotting furniture. Like in the dining room, another chandelier hung from the ceiling; all of its sparkle gone from its icy crystals. A faded red rug lay across the old, creaking floorboards. Resting on the mantle above the fireplace was an old mirror, it’s surface dark and murky. James stared up at the old mirror as the others searched through the dark, dusty room for the spyglass. Staring up at the foggy mirror, James could see himself and his friends; all seven of them. 

There was an eighth standing in the wide doorway. 

The tall boy stared at the murky mirror and the figure, wrapped in a bloody yellow raincoat in the doorway behind them. Telling himself that it was just his imagination, the boy slowly turned. 

No one was standing in the doorway. 

James shivered. 

He looked back up at the mirror. 

The figure was now standing by Francis who had sat down in one of the white sheet covered chairs, his arms wrapped around himself. The figure in the yellow raincoat was reaching his pale, bloody hand towards Francis’s throat. 

“Francis!” James yelled as he turned to him, his heart racing. 

There was nothing there. 

Francis stared up at James, startled. 

“W-What is it?” 

“Nothing… I just thought I saw something…” James whispered. Francis frowned. “We should keep searching,” James said quickly. “It’s not in here.” 

“James?” Francis frowned as the tall boy started towards the doorway. In the hallway, he stopped only for the others to catch up with him. James flexed his fingers, feeling for Captain James; he would keep them safe. He had saved him before. 

James suddenly stopped. 

Captain James wasn’t there. 

“Maybe we should go upstairs?” Thomas asked. 

“U-Upstairs?” Henry repeated nervously. 

“This place is freaky. We should just get out of here,” Edward said, crossing his arms. 

Silna nodded, hugging herself. She was trying to hide her chattering teeth; her ripped tights, t-shirt and beige overall dress defenceless against the sudden, winter cold that hung over the house. 

All of the teenagers were shivering, wishing to be back in the warm summer sunlight. 

“But we haven’t found the spyglass yet,” Francis protested. 

“Why is it so important?” Henry cried, frustrated. 

Francis took a deep breath as he glanced at James who glanced up and down the hall, searching for Captain James. 

“Oh come on, you can’t keep secrets after you dragged us in here. Tell us!” Henry demanded. 

“It belonged to one of us…” Francis’ voice was barely a whisper. The boys stared at him in confusion. 

Silna glanced down at her boots, thinking of the book and what James had told her; this was not their first life. 

“Belonged to who?” Edward asked. “Harry?” 

“No… I don’t know who it-” 

Boot steps overhead made them all freeze. 

James’s fingers gripped Francis’s wrist as they stared up at the creaking ceiling. 

“Someone is up there…” Edward whispered. 

“No one has lived here in years…” Collins breathed. “Who would want to?” he added as he glanced at the graffiti on the wall. 

They fell silent, listening for more boot steps but none came. 

Francis started towards the stairs, pulling James with him. 

“What are you doing?” James hissed. 

“We should find out if it really is someone up there,” Francis said. He turned to look back at the tall boy who had once been his second. “And if it’s them… if it’s the men I left behind… then we shouldn’t be scared, I at least owe them that.” James stared at Francis, his dark eyes searching his face. 

Francis turned away from James and started up the stairs. The tall boy took a deep and followed after him. The others glanced hesitantly at each other. 

Silna started up the stairs. 

“Fuck,” Henry muttered and followed her. 

Thomas smacked Edward’s arm encouragingly and they too began to climb the creaking stairs. Collins hurried after them, not wanting to be left alone in the dark. 

At the top of the stairs, Francis stopped. It was dark and even colder, his breath fogging in front of his face. He stepped into the hallway, the flashlight in his hand shining over the floor. Old books lay scattered across the hall, their pages torn and yellow. Among them were a few little boxes of old chocolate, a spill ink pot and more of the red tins. 

“What are those?” Edward whispered as Thomas kicked one of the cans, sending it rolling across the floor. Thomas shrugged. 

James reached for the door directly across the hall from the stairs. He gripped the old, rusting handle and pushed it open. 

Scattered around the room were maps and navigational instruments, all thrown into the old bedroom and left there to be eaten by moths and suffocated by dust. James stepped into the room, one of the old maps crunching like brittle, icy snow under his navy blue running shoes, the white laces dragging through the dust. He knelt down, picking up an old journal that lay open among the scattered remains. It was too dark to read any of the fine writing. He glanced over his shoulder at Silna who stood in the doorway, taking in the strange room. James set the journal down and made his way back to the door. 

In the hall, Francis’s flashlight shone across the old paintings hanging on the faded walls; one was of a ship being tossed by great, angry waves. Another was of an older man dressed in a glittering uniform who stared grimly at the teenagers as they passed, as though disappointed in all of them. Francis couldn’t even bring himself to look at the man in the painting for even a moment. 

Francis pushed open another door. 

Hundreds of boots lay thrown about the room. 

Some of them had chunks missing them; as though someone had ripped off some of the leather in a desperate attempt to fight back their hunger. 

Francis took a nervous step back from the door. The flashlight in his hand gave away how badly his hand was shaking. 

“J-James…” Francis stammered as he reached for him. “Is this a dream?” 

“No,” James whispered. “It’s not. I can see it too.” 

Behind them, Silna turned to look at the door to their right. 

A freezing draft rushed from under the door making the pages of the books at their feet flutter. 

James and Francis glanced at the door curiously. 

Down the hall, Thomas nervously pushed open another door. A dull, flickering light hanging from the ceiling cast an almost nauseating white glow into the hall. Henry, Edward and Collins peered nervously over his shoulder into the dimly lit room, their shadows flickering across the walls behind them. 

Thomas took a step into the old, dirty bathroom. 

The white tiled floor was streaked with dirt. The sink was no longer white porcelain but a vile, green colour. Dark, rusty water had filled up the old sink and was now dripping to the dirty tiled floor. 

The bathtub was full of red tin cans. 

Unaware of the flickering light at the other end of the hall, James reached for the door in front of him. 

He flinched back from the door handle; it was frozen, a thin layer of ice covering the brass. 

He glanced up at Francis who nodded. James took a deep breath and gripped the frozen door handle. He pushed open the door, a freezing gust of wind rushing around the three teenagers. James stared into the pitch darkness that filled the room. Not even the flashlight in Francis’s hand could pierce it. He took a cautious step forward, shivering uncontrollably. 

In the small bathroom, Thomas picked up one of the red tin cans, struggling to read the faded label. 

A hand suddenly burst from the cans and grabbed onto Thomas. 

The boy screamed. 

The tin can fell from his hand and landed loudly on the once snow-white tiled floor. 

Edward lunged for Thomas, yanking him back from the grip of the corpse-like hand. 

From the tin can filled bathtub, first, an arm appeared and then a shoulder. Red tins cascading on to the floor. 

The corpse dragged himself from the bathtub, reaching hungrily for the boy. The white light overhead flickered wildly. 

The teenagers screamed. 

Thomas clung to Edward as they ran from the room, their sneakers pounding against the rotting floorboards as they ran down the hall towards James and the open doorway he stood in, the frigid wind rushing around him. Collins glanced back over his shoulder as the corpse reached the bathroom door, it’s guttural cries echoing through the dark. Hanging from it's pale, skeletal face were golden chains pierced through its skin. 

“Run! Run!” Henry screamed as he slammed into James, knocking him further into the dark room. James nearly lost his balance, his hands flailing through the frigid air as he slipped on what felt like ice under his running shoes. 

“Stop!” James cried. 

Someone pushed him again. 

Silna crashed into him, nearly knocking him to the icy floor. 

His running shoes skidded across the ice as James flailed to regain his balance. 

James reached frantically in the dark, grabbing onto Francis' sweater. He felt Francis grip his arm tightly, his nails digging into his skin. 

“Let me in!” Collins cried as the corpse stumbled towards him as he tried to push his way inside the dark room. 

“Stop!” James tried to cry out again. 

Collins slammed the door shut, the last ray of light they had disappearing in an instant. 

Their frantic voices filled the darkness. 

A thud, deafening like thunder, echoed from the door as the corpse slammed into it. 

Someone screamed. 

Someone slipped on the ice. 

Someone pushed James. 

Suddenly, James Fitzjames was falling. 

He heard Francis cry out as he was yanked downwards with the tall boy. 

James expected to land on a hard, icy floor but instead, he continued to fall through the dark. 

The freezing wind rushed around him, screaming in his ears. 

Had the floorboards fallen away? 

Was he going to fall right into the basement of the old, haunted house? 

Was this how he was going to die? 

For just a moment, James opened his eyes. The wind instantly made his eyes water with stinging tears. 

In the dark, he caught a glimmer of a swirling green light high above him. 

James Fitzjames hit the icy ground. 

He gasped painfully, the air knocked from his lungs. 

He curled onto his side, his gloved hand pressed against his chest as he gasped; golden buttons pressing into the palm of his hand. 

James heard Henry coughing and gasping for air, the teenaged boy laying somewhere behind him. 

“A-Are you okay?” He faintly heard Edward call out. 

James struggled to open his eyes, his vision blurred with tears. Francis lay beside him, his fiery curls attempting to escape his black hat. 

James reached his gloved hand toward him. His fingers brushed against navy blue wool. 

The boy closed his tear-filled eyes tightly as another jolt of pain rushed through him. The merciless cold bit at his nose and cheeks. 

He felt a warm, fur mittened hand shake his shoulder, rolling him onto his back. 

James’s round hat with its glinting, golden ribbon, slipped from his head and landed on the snow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'm so excited, the first three chapters have all been setting up and leading to this and ahhh!!! I've posted this chapter a little early because next week's update might be a little late. 
> 
> Also, I've put together a playlist for this fic. Unlike part one, it's not like a soundtrack, it's more of just songs that I listen to while writing or have inspired scenes or just the vibe overall lol I'll be adding to it! You can find it on Spotify here: open.spotify.com/playlist/1wnaQEe25BY56tiKJIYLE0?si=FVNTPZqsQIuKl4rLIUIO1g
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you all again so so so much for your comments and love, I really can't thank you all enough for how happy they make me. Thank you <3


	5. the church grim

John Irving had always been a morning bird, waking up even before the sun. 

This morning was no different than every other day; just how John liked it. 

He rolled out of bed and pushed open his curtains, looking out at the dimly lit world that lay before him. Just like always, the street was quiet at this early hour. The orange street lamps were still glowing and the sprinkler in the neighbour’s lawn across the street had already turned on, hoping to beat the on coming summer heat. The birds were singing. The swallows that lived in a nest on the roof swooped for the little bugs that swarmed in the early morning air. 

John turned away from the window. He quietly got dressed, careful not to step where his bedroom floor creaked. 

His family didn’t mind him getting up so early so long as he didn’t wake them. 

He got dressed in an old but neat pair of jeans, and threw on a blue t-shirt. He grabbed one of his sweatshirts, the logo of the university he would be attending in the fall emblazoned on the front. It had been a gift from his parents not long after the letter had arrived in the mail informing him that he had been accepted. 

The boy placed his sweatshirt inside his backpack along with his math textbook and pencil case. The morning hours were the best to study but it wouldn’t be long before it became too loud to focus here at home. He tip-toed out into the hallway, easing his door closed behind him. 

He made his way quietly down the hall, past framed photos of him and his family. In one of the framed photographs, the whole family was standing on the front steps of the church, all of them dressed in their best. John, barely six years old in the photo, looked annoyed and tired in his little suit as he clutched his mother’s hand.

Two days after that photo was taken, Graham Gore, a boy in his class, was found dead by the now missing Harry Goodsir. 

His mother had whispered that it couldn’t be a coincidence, that something was wrong, that there was something evil haunting this town. She told John that he must be vigilant.

The boy’s father told her not to be superstitious. 

John walked past the photo without giving it a second glance. 

In the living room, he carefully stepped over the family’s dog, the big fluffy beast sleeping on the rug in the middle of the room. He reached the front door without making a sound, slipping on his running shoes and neatly tying them in a bow. He grabbed his keys from the little side table where he always left it and quietly stepped outside into the cool dawn. The front door closed with a faint click. 

John took a deep breath of the fresh air. Summer mornings were his favourite; just cool enough that he could ride his bike without breaking a sweat, the sky overhead slowly brightening into the most perfect blue. He found his bike in the garage, leaning against the wall just under the window. The yellow paint glinted in the faint blue blue glow as he eased it out of the garage. He reached up on his tiptoes to pull the garage door shut, wincing at the crashing sound it made as it slammed shut. 

He got onto his bike and slowly began to coast down the driveway to the road. At this early hour, the streetlamps were still on and not a single car was on the road. He pedalled past still, sleeping houses that in a few hours, would be bustling with life as the families inside began their day. For now, they were silent. 

He rode past the small doctor’s office, the faint glow of the weak and tired fire in the fireplace filling the windows. It burned almost every day; he had overheard Doctor Stanley tell his mother that the fire made him feel safe. 

John’s bicycle coasted down the winding road. 

The tree branches overhead were full of lush green leaves, birds singing their praise of the rising sun. 

The smell of the ocean was in the air.

The yellow bicycle came to a stop in front of the old church. It was small and simple; no need for it to be any more. The walls were white. The dim sunlight shone through the glittering, stained glass windows. It’s little spire reached for the heavens. 

The boy left his bike by the stairs. He jumped up the old stone steps as he reached into his pocket for his keys. He unlocked the front doors and quietly stepped inside. 

Inside, the air was cool and gentle. A red carpet stretched down the aisle towards the altar, past old wooden pews; original to the building. Bibles rested on shelves on the backs of the pews, their simple leather covers glinting in the dim sunlight. John closed the door behind him as he breathed in the scent of faint candle smoke, incense and dust. 

Nowhere else in the world was as silent as it was here. 

The boy made his way past the pews, avoiding all the spots where he knew the floorboards creaked. He reached the side door at the front of the hall, quietly pushing it open. He found himself in a little hallway. One door led to the small office that belonged to the pastor. 

The other, at the end of the hall, led to the stairs that went down to the basement. 

John turned on the hallway light, casting a nervous glance at the basement door. It was closed. 

He crossed the hall and stepped into the office, flicking the light on. He sat down at the desk with a yawn. John was still for a moment, taking in the neat office like he always did. The bookshelf was filled with religious texts and old pamphlets. The desk was neat, it’s surface empty save for an old red tin can which had been fashioned into a pen holder and a little cross that stood in the middle of the desk. 

When John had explained to the pastor that he was looking for a quiet place to study, the pastor had gladly offered him his office. He sometimes had a hard time getting the boy to leave; struggling to encourage him to go be with his friends before summer ended and they all went their separate paths.

Today, John decided he’d study until noon and then he would go find his friends. He knew they wouldn’t be far. 

He pulled his books from his backpack and plucked a pencil from the tin can penholder and got to work. 

He could hear the birds singing outside and the scratch of his pencil on the page. 

His right foot bounced on the floor, his focus on the equation in front of him. He chewed the eraser of his pencil absentmindedly. 

John’s foot stilled. 

He stared at the page in front of him but his focus had been pulled away. 

The boy’s eyes shifted, glancing nervously at the door from the corner of his eye. He could make out a pair of boots on the wood floor. 

John turned. 

There was no one in the doorway. 

Slowly, the boy got up and walked to the door. He peered into the hallway. There was no one there. 

John rubbed his eyes and walked back to the desk, sitting down heavily. He decided that he must be tired. Since Harry had disappeared, he hadn’t been sleeping very well. He doubted that any of his friends were; they all wanted him back home. 

The boy shivered. He reached into his bag for his sweatshirt, pulling it on. He picked up his pencil, his attention once more returning to the numbers that covered the page. His foot bounced against the floor. The pencil scratched on the page. 

The boy’s eyelids began to droop. 

The clock on the wall ticked….

Ticked….

Ticked…

John jolted awake as his pencil fell from his tired grip. 

He looked around the office with wide eyes. He could have sworn that he had heard the sound of glass breaking somewhere in the church. The boy turned to look back at the doorway. He took a deep breath and forced himself to get to his feet. 

Slowly, he stepped into the hallway. 

The door to the basement was open, the single bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling flickering slightly. 

John’s heart pounded in his chest; a thousand doves trying desperately to flee the fox. 

The boy took a step towards the open door. He stopped at the top of the stairs, his hands trembling slightly at his sides. 

“H-Hello?” he struggled to call out. “Who's down there?” 

Nothing answered him but the faint sound of footsteps coming from somewhere down the stairs. 

John’s hands curled into fists. 

“I said who is down there?” John called out, his tone firm this time. 

The shuffling of footsteps stopped.

John glanced over his shoulder. 

He started down the stairs, taking one step at a time. 

John reached the bottom of the stairs. It was dark and cold. He turned on the lights, the flickering white light filling the narrow basement hall. The door to the storage room was open. “Who is there?” John called out. 

No one answered him. 

John curled his hands into fists; frustration boiling in his chest. He started down the hall towards the storage room. His shoes were silent on the unpainted cement floor. The boy reached the door. 

The bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling flickered erratically. John shivered; when had it gotten so cold? 

He stepped into the room, his arms wrapped around himself as he took in the tall shelves. They were filled with boxes containing christmas and easter decorations, tea sets, old pamphlets and little chalkboards the kids in Sunday school used. The air was heavy with the smell of dust. 

And something else; something rotting, something dead, something sulphuric.

Thinking it was just a leaky pipe, John tried to ignore the smell as he stepped further into the room, looking behind the first shelf for any hooligan who might have snuck into the church. 

John stopped. 

Resting on the bare cement floor by his feet was a teacup, placed neatly in it’s saucer. Red flowers painted onto the china swirled around a ship being tossed on perfect blue waves. Bits of the paint was peeling, revealing the white porcelain underneath. 

John frowned as he bent down, picking up the teacup and it’s matching saucer. 

He stepped towards the shelf in front of him. 

“We were just looking for the cat, Mr Irving,” a voice from the other side of the shelf suddenly said. John’s eyes widened with horror as he stared at the pale face on the other side of the shelf. Blood dripped down his pointed chin, his piercing eyes glinting as he smiled. 

The teacup fell from John’s hands. 

The porcelain shattered on the cement floor, pieces flying around the boy’s feet. 

John turned and began to run for the door. 

He gripped the door frame as he ran sharply around the corner, nearly running right into it. 

A sudden force slammed into the boy’s back. 

John could only manage a gasp before he suddenly crashed onto hard, unforgiving rocks. 

The boy cried out in pain, his knees bleeding through his heavy, navy blue trousers. His thick navy blue greatcoat dragged across the rocks. The boy managed to look up, seeing nothing but an endless pale, rocky landscape and an empty, uncaring blue sky. 

He looked over his shoulder, his large collar nearly obscuring his view of the ghost that was walking towards him. 

The man with the bloody smile stood over him. His shirt was gone. His white trousers were sweat stained and his heavy leather boots thudded against the rocks. 

John scrambled to his feet, trying to run across the rocks. Pain shot through his ankle. The boy stumbled, his navy blue coat billowing around him. 

He looked up, his eyes filled with stinging tears. 

The church stairs he knew so well had suddenly emerged from the cruel rocks. At the top was the door. 

“Face it, Mr Irving! You always knew you’d end up here. No amount of routine or perfect neat and tidiness will save you from this chaos,” the man said calmly, blood dripping to the dusty rocks. 

John forced his legs into a sprint. With every step on his right foot, jolts of pain shot up his leg. He reached the stairs, managing to jump up them two at a time. His heavy leather boots thudded on the wood. He threw open the door and fell into the small hallway. 

He nearly tripped over his loose running shoe laces as he stumbled down the hallway. He ran past the office and into the main hall, his frantic footsteps muffled by the red carpet. 

His knees were bleeding through his jeans. 

Standing by the front doors was a boy dressed in a black hoodie and jeans, loose threads hanging from a rip in the knee. His black boots were heavy and messily tied. His long ginger hair escaped from under his black hood. 

“H-Hickey,” John gasped as he ran towards him. “There is a man downstairs! H-He’s trying to kill me! Help me!” 

The boy stared at John as he staggered to a stop in front of him. 

“We have to get out of here!” John tried to step past the boy but he was roughly shoved backwards. John stared at the boy with wide, confused eyes. “H-Hickey?” 

“He needs your help, John.” 

“What?” 

“He’s hungry, John. Don’t you want to help someone who is starving?” 

“I do… I don’t understand, Hickey! We have to get out! He’s coming!” 

The boy smiled. 

“He’s already here.” 

A hand suddenly curled around John’s ankle. 

John screamed as he was suddenly thrown to the floor. John reached desperately for the boy as he was dragged along the carpet, his knees turning red with rug burn. 

“Hickey! Help me! Help me!” John wailed. The boy simply stared at him. John managed to grab onto one of the pews. His fingernails dug into the wood as the hand yanked on his ankle. 

When he wouldn’t let go, more hands suddenly grabbed onto him, taking hold of his legs. 

John screamed. 

The hands pulled again. 

John was yanked backwards, dragged into one of the narrow spaces between two pews. 

John Irving’s screams suddenly cut off with a wet, violent gurgle.

Blood seeped into the floorboards. 

The only sound was the sweet song of the birds as they praised the rising sun. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really interesting to write, I really do love horror lol Sorry if the editing isn’t the best, I did it on my phone. If there are any errors I missed, please feel free to let me know! I’m so excited for next week’s chapter omggg!!! Thank you all so much for the love and support, it means so much to me!


	6. the ghost ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick warning; there is a small but kinda scary scene involving teeth. Not really about someone losing them but there are a lot of teeth. I find teeth unsettling so I just wanted to put a quick warning here. 
> 
> Sorry this chapter is so late, I hope you enjoy it!

The cold wind whispered across the jagged ridges of ice, forced up by the great, watery depths below. The wind played with the snow, sending snowflakes flying through the frozen air like a child would throw fallen leaves above their head and laugh as they rained down around them. The sky was dark, not giving away a single clue as to what time of day it was. 

In the distance, rising from the ice at an angle that changed every day was a great ship, illuminated by a few glowing lanterns that managed to cut through the darkness. Not far behind her, was another ship, her own lanterns trying their best to not burn out in the cold, unforgiving wind. 

Somewhere in between the two great ships, among the ridges of ice, came a teenager’s laugh. 

James Fitzjames slowly opened his eyes, his blurry gaze focusing on the dark sky. Snowflakes landed on his heavy, navy blue coat. His gaze flickered to Silna who leaned over him, her face surrounded by a warm fur hood. James managed to sit up, pressing his hand against his chest as he winced. “I-I’m okay…” he managed to say. 

Silna frowned and pointed to James’s left. 

His pain was quickly forgotten when he turned, his dark gaze landing on Francis who still lay in the snow, nearly swallowed by his heavy coat. James reached for him, frantically rolling the older boy on to his back. The blue glow glinted off the brim of his black hat. 

“Francis!” James gripped his shoulders tightly, shaking him. “Say something! Please! Francis!” 

The fiery-haired boy let out a groan of pain. “Stop shaking me…” James loosened his grip on the older boy’s shoulders but didn’t let him go. As Francis struggled to regain his breath, James stared down at his gloved hands clutching the navy blue wool of Francis’s coat. He slowly ran his bare fingertips over the warm fabric. Just a moment ago, it had been orange knit and denim. 

Francis opened his eyes.

His bright gaze took in the tall boy’s face, the thick navy blue collar that threatened to swallow him whole and the glinting buttons that covered him. 

“Am I dreaming? Are you him?” Francis breathed. There was something in his eyes that James had only dreamed about, had thought about in his daydreams during boring math classes and laid awake in bed thinking about. 

This look was not for him. 

The teenage boy’s grip tightened on his shoulders, his jaw clenching slightly. 

“Francis, it’s just me-” 

A snowball whistled through the cold air and hit James squarely on the jaw. 

The boy gasped, tensing as the painfully cold snow oozed down his collar. He looked up at Henry who stood atop one of the ridges, the wind tugging at his long navy blue coat. He laughed as he balled up more snow between his hands. 

“Dundy!” James yelled angrily. 

Francis managed to sit up, watching as James balled up the snow and threw the snowball as hard as he could at Henry, knocking his hat from his head. Henry’s playful scream echoed through the cold air as James clambered up the icy ridge, his coat billowing around him. 

It didn’t take long for snowballs to be flying wildly around Francis; even Silna threw one at Edward, the teenaged boy laughing breathlessly as he fell to the snow. Thomas threw one back at her, just missing her hood as she ducked out of the way. 

Francis couldn’t help but smile. 

A sudden jolt of cold shot through him as James suddenly grabbed onto him, shoving a handful of snow down his collar. He screamed, managing to grab onto the tall boy before he could make his escape. James howled with laughter as Francis threw snow at him, the two boys rolling across the ice. 

“Get him, James!” Henry’s laugh was cut off by a snowball hitting him in the chest. Collins smiled, already balling up another.

Their laughter echoed across the ice. 

“Stop! Stop!” James laughed, covered in snow. Francis smiled, letting go of the tall boy as he fell back onto the ice. The snowball fight ceased; the tired teenagers struggling to catch their breath. James placed his fallen hat back on his head as he stared up at the swirling lights in the night sky. 

“Huh…” Edward said from where he sat on top of the icy ridge, his coat sprawled around him. “Harry was right; they do crackle.” 

Silna stared up at the sky, her eyes glassy with tears. 

“Where are we?” Thomas asked. 

James glanced at Francis. The fiery-haired boy dug his fingers into the snow, not flinching away from the painful cold. James didn’t need Francis to say anything to know where they were. 

On top of the ridge, Collins turned to look out over the ice behind them. In the distance, he could see the faint glitter of lanterns. 

He could hear the wind whispering over the ice. 

“Do you hear that?” Collins called out. The others looked up at him, straining to hear what he did. Collins looked down at Francis with a frown. “It’s like… It’s like someone is walking out there.” 

“Who would be out there?” Edward dared to whisper as Francis slowly got to his feet, the snow crunching under his boots. James glanced nervously between Francis and the ridge Collins stood on top of. 

A great beast suddenly rose from the ice just beyond the boy as if it too were made of the frozen sea; it’s roar shuddering through James. 

Francis yelled at them to run, the teenagers scattering across the ice. 

The older boy hauled James to his feet, the boy not realizing he had frozen in horror. They scrambled up one of the ridges and slid down the other side, running across the snow as fast as they could despite their heavy coats. 

Silna glanced back over her shoulder at the creature as it ran after them. She might have stopped completely had Edward not grabbed her arm, pulling her after him. 

The teenagers sprinted across the snow-covered ice, not quite sure where they were going but anywhere was safer than behind them, than the creature whose roars rattled them to their souls. 

James barely heard Francis yell at them to get down and hide. The next thing he knew, he was falling to the snow, slipping down the ice and coming to a stop under an overhang of ice. Francis threw himself on top of James, the two boys staring out from the cleft with wide eyes. 

The ice trembled under the creature’s great paws. 

It stopped for just a moment in front of the two boy’s, sniffing the frigid air. 

The smell of blood, hot and salty, washed over them. 

James fought against a wave of nausea. He pressed his hand over his mouth. 

The creature slowly turned, disappearing into the dark. James and Francis listened for its heavy breath and the groan of ice under its paws but there was nothing. 

Staring out into the cold darkness, James slowly became aware of how warm Francis was, his chest pressed against James’s back, his breath against his cheek, his hand resting on the snow near his. 

“We should find the others,” Francis said quietly. James managed to nod, watching nervously as Francis crawled out from under the overhanging ice. 

James felt cold again. 

He crawled out after the older boy and they slowly started across the ice, finding Edward and Thomas huddled behind one of the ridges, Silna, Collins and Henry close by. 

“We should keep moving,” Francis said as James helped Henry to his feet. “That bear might still be close by.” 

Silna stared down at her boots. She sat in the snow, her face hidden from the boys by her hood. She only looked up when James offered his hand to her. She took it, letting him pull her up. She stayed close to the tall boy who looked even taller in his thick coat and round hat; she thought it looked like a dinner plate atop his head. 

The group of teenagers made their way through the sea of ice, awkwardly climbing over ridges and looking over their shoulders fearfully. 

They knew the bear was out there. 

They knew there was something else out there too; watching them. 

They turned a corner. 

Francis suddenly stopped, the tired teenagers nearly walking into him.

James followed Francis’s wide-eyed gaze, looking up at what appeared to be a mast.

“What is that?” Thomas asked quietly, hardly daring to raise his voice higher than a whisper. Francis didn’t answer them as he started to climb up the ridge. 

There were boot prints in the snow, hundreds of them. 

Francis reached his hand back for James, helping to pull him up the rest of the way. James took a breath as he reached the top of the ridge, slowly coming to a stop beside Francis.

“Holy shit,” the teenage boy breathed. “It’s just like the little one in your window,” James laughed. Francis slid down the ridge, walking slowly across the open snow. The others followed as he started climbing the makeshift ramp made of snow and ice. 

Francis stepped down onto icy wood. 

His eyes stung with tears as he took in the deck of the ship. He slowly knelt, placing his hand on the frosty wood floorboards. 

James turned to his right. In the distance, lantern lights glowed from the masts of another ship that shared a name with his bicycle. 

“James…” Francis said quietly. “What is this?” 

“I think this is a memory,” James said, his eyes still on the distant ship. 

“A memory? Whose memory?” Edward asked sharply. 

“Good question,” James muttered as he glanced around the deck of the  _ HMS Terror. _

The sound of something falling to the wood made them jump. 

A rat scurried from a fallen barrel. 

“A rat… Even here?” Henry wondered. 

“Do you think we are alone here?” Thomas asked as Francis stood up, snow clinging to the hem of his long coat. 

“I don’t know…” 

“We weren’t alone in that house,” Henry muttered.

Silna nodded, huddled under her fur hood. 

“Maybe we should look around?” Collins suggested hesitantly. He shrunk back when everyone turned to look at him, some with anger for suggesting the terrifying idea. 

“We should look,” Francis said with a small nod to Collins. 

“Fuck,” Henry sighed. 

“We’re here for a reason. Perhaps we’ll find the spyglass,” James said, trying to reassure them. 

“And then what?” Henry demanded. 

“We’ll figure it out,” James said, taking Henry’s wrist and tugging him along down the icy deck. The other’s reluctantly followed.

Francis stayed still for a moment longer, looking up at the towering masts. Slowly, he turned to look back over his shoulder at the vast, white nothingness that surrounded the ship.

The ice crackled and groaned, the ship shifting ever so slightly. 

James’s boots thudded on the wood floor as he led the way down into the ship, jumping down the ladder. Melted snow dripped from the hem of his heavy coat. 

“What’s down there?” Edward asked. 

“It's hard to tell, it's dark,” James called back up to the teenagers that crowded around the hatch. The teenagers glanced at each other, neither wanting to go first. 

Silna sighed and started down the ladder. 

James hadn’t waited for them, continuing through the dark. He reached his hand out to the wall, dragging his fingers along the wood the same way he’d drag his fingers along the chain-link fence around the field at school. The memory of his gloves sticking to the cold fence in the winter crossed his mind as he made his way down the cold hall. 

Francis was the last to climb down the ladder, his boot slowly stepping down onto the floorboards. 

An oil lamp near James suddenly came to life, it’s warm glow filling the narrow space. The teenagers watched with eyes full of wonder as the rest of the oil lamps slowly woke up one at time. Francis gently tapped the last lamp awake, smiling as the warm light illuminated his face. 

“You said this, all of this, is a memory,” Edward said quietly as he turned to James. “I feel like I know this ship… I’ve been here before but I don’t remember.” James took a deep breath. 

“You have been here before,” James said. “We all have.” 

“Then…” Thomas’s brow furrowed. “Does that mean this is one of our memories?” 

Silna glanced down at the row of plain wooden chests that lined the middle of the floor. Carved into one of them were the initials “E.C”. 

“I don’t know,” James said quietly. He looked up at Francis who had turned away from them, walking slowly towards the door at the very end. The tall boy pushed past the others, hurrying down the slanted hall. He reached the sliding wooden door, staggering to a stop as he took in the room, icy blue light filtering through the frosty windows. He found Francis sitting at the small desk in his cabin, the ship’s log open in front of him. 

“It’s like nothing has changed,” Francis said quietly as he turned the page. “Have we changed?” James blinked, not quite sure how to answer him. “I thought I could live with my dreams if they were just that; dreams. Now, I’m not sure anymore if I can live with-” 

“Don’t,” James said sharply. “Don’t say that.” He took a step towards Francis, slamming the ship log shut. The gold letters on the cover glinted in the lamplight. “That poor kid’s wish, whoever he was, wanted us all to be happy, Francis. Even you.” 

“Don’t you remember what that means, James?” Francis cried as he stood up, forcing James to step out of the small room. “You said it yourself. Every time we all fail to achieve that happiness, this whole goddamn cycle repeats. Don’t you remember? Graham Gore died when we were six! Harry is dead! Hickey has already won! We are already doomed to have our souls fragment again and we have to go through this all over again! We’re just being played with now,” Francis snapped, his tone laced with a fury that James had never heard before. “I should have realized it the second we stepped into that house. We’re just here to pass the time for Hickey till we’re all dead again. Don’t you get it?” 

“H-Harry knew something. That spyglass has to do with it. Maybe… maybe we can stop the cycle,” James said. He looked down at his boots, trying not to think about the weight of his words. “Finally end it.” Francis’s teary eyes searched his face. “And… if we don’t come back again… well doesn’t that foil Hickey’s plan?” 

“James…” 

“It’s okay. We shouldn’t be selfish. Our friends… our crew… they deserve better than this, don’t they?” James asked quietly. “You know it’s the only option we have. We’ve been doomed before. Maybe we can soften the blow this time.” 

“But won’t that mean that we’ll never-” Francis trailed off as James placed his hand on his chest, gently running his fingers over the navy blue wool. James stared at the older boy, words tasting sweet with love on his tongue. His fingers curled around Francis’ lapel, thumbing the fabric gently. Francis took a step towards him, closing the small space between them. James’s dark gaze lowered. He could feel Francis’s warm breathe on his cold skin. “You look just like him…” Francis breathed. 

The teenage boy’s jaw clenched. 

“James?” Francis frowned. James dropped his hand from Francis’s lapel as he stepped backwards, finding himself stuck between the older boy and the heavy table covered with maps behind him. 

“I’m not…” James cut himself off. His chest hurt. He curled his right hand into a fist against the edge of the table. “I’m not-” 

A scream echoed through the ship. 

James pushed himself away from the table, bolting towards the door. He stumbled out into the hall, sprinting past the flickering oil lamps. He stopped when he saw fluorescent white light spilling onto the floor. He turned to his left. 

One of the doors was open. 

Instead of leading to another small cabin, it opened onto the bathroom in Thomas’s house. The boy was standing in front of the mirror, dressed in a bright yellow sweater and jeans with little colourful patches; identical to clothes he had worn when he was seven. 

From the other end of the ship, Edward and the others came running. James held his hand up to stop them, glancing nervously at Thomas whose shoulders were trembling. 

“Thomas?” James called out. The boy didn’t respond. Slowly, he looked up at the mirror and the reflection of a teenage boy in a captain’s uniform standing in the doorway. 

Something fell into the sink with an odd clattering sound. 

“Thomas?” James stepped through the doorway. 

Heavy leather boots became running shoes dotted with cartoon sharks. Navy blue wool became a green t-shirt and corduroy shorts. James took a step towards him, peering into the sink. 

Resting on the white porcelain, near the dark drain, was a tooth. 

“Thomas?” James grabbed the boy’s shoulder, turning him around. The boy had his hands pressed over his mouth, his eyes full of horror. “What is it? What’s wrong?” 

“T-Tooth,” Thomas managed to say, his voice trembling. 

“You lost a tooth?” 

“You don’t understand…” Thomas’s eyes were filled with tears. 

Something clattered into the sink. 

James slowly turned his gaze, looking back down into the sink. 

There was another tooth. 

The two boys watched in horror as another tooth dripped from the faucet. And then another. And then another. 

The light flickered overhead. 

“James! Thomas!” Francis suddenly screamed. 

James turned, watching as the door closed on its own. He lunged for the door handle, trying desperately to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. “Francis!” James cried, hitting the door as hard as he could. “Fuck!” James panicked. Thomas fell back against the door beside him. They watched as teeth poured from the faucet, glinting in the wildly flickering light. It didn’t take long for the sink to overflow, teeth falling to the white tiled floor. James pulled at the door. He could faintly hear the others on the other side, hitting at the door. 

Between the bursts of white light; a shadow began to peel himself off the wall. 

James threw himself against the door again. 

Teeth spilled across the floor. 

The shadow loomed closer. 

Thomas hit the door, screaming for help. 

Something heavy crashed against the other side of the door. 

James looked back at the shadow, his hands shaking with horror. Every part of him told him to run but there was no escape. 

The door trembled as it was rammed again from the other side. 

The shadow flinched back. 

The door suddenly opened, the two boys falling to the wood floor in a flurry of navy blue wool. James managed to roll onto his back, scrambling backwards till he crashed into Silna’s legs. 

Standing in the doorway was the man with the bloody smile. 

Francis gripped the door and slammed it shut in his face. 

Silna reached down, her mittened hands gently holding James’s shoulders as he struggled to breathe. Thomas had his back against the wall, his arms wrapped around his legs. Henry and Edward knelt beside him, Henry’s hand gently rubbing his arm. 

“T-Teeth… Was that what was on the floor?” Collins managed to say. 

“I-I used to be scared of teeth…” Thomas whispered. 

“Scared of fucking teeth?” James yelled, lunging for him out of anger. Silna and Collins held him back. “You could have gotten us killed! Over some fucking teeth!” 

“James!” Francis said sharply. 

“What is happening?” Edward suddenly yelled. “You two seem to know everything! You have to tell us! Now! You dragged us here! You keep saying all this weird shit! We’ve been chased by a bear and now this! We could be killed? What’s going on? Why are we here?” 

“Well… That’s a bit of a long story.” One of the sliding doors on the other side of the narrow hall suddenly opened, causing the terrified group of teenagers to scream. “Calm down! It’s alright. You can trust me. I’m the reason you’re here after all.” 

James stared up at the man who stood in the doorway. His dark curls were overgrown and his tired face was framed by a dark beard. Just like them, he wore a heavy navy blue coat and fingerless gloves, his nails dark and dirty. Despite the exhaustion carved into his face, he still smiled at them. 

Silna took a small step towards him, her wide eyes searching his face. 

Under the pain and the long, cold years, he was still Harry Goodsir. 

Silna wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his chest. The good doctor hesitated before gently placing his hand on her shoulder. 

“W-Who are you?” Collins asked quietly as Silna stepped away from the embrace. 

“I'm Harry Goodsir," the young man said quietly. The teenagers stared up at him with wide eyes. "Sit with me? I-I can explain,” Goodsir said as he stepped back into the small room, sitting down on the small bed. The teenagers glanced hesitantly at each other before slowly following him. “Oh… Look at all of you,” Goodsir said as he gazed around the room, noticing how Francis sat politely in the chair by the table while James had sat down on the table and crossed his legs, his heavy navy blue coat spilling off the wood tabletop, noticing how Henry leaned awkwardly against the doorframe while Thomas decided to sit on the floor by Francis’s chair, Edward standing beside Collins. 

Only Silna sat down beside Goodsir, a quiet look of shock, wonder and grief sprawled across her face. 

“You are so much like the people you used to be and yet… you are just-” 

“Kids,” James said, fidgeting with one of his gold buttons on his sleeve. Goodsir nodded. 

“That’s what we wanted.’ 

“Did you make the wish?” Francis asked. Goodsir shook his head. 

“No. But I have my suspicions about who did.”

“Was it one of us?” Francis glanced at the others crowded around him. The tired young man shook his head. James frowned. 

“What are you talking about? What wish?” Henry demanded. 

“Neither of you told them?” Goodsir glanced at the two boys that had once been captains. He smiled. “I understand. It wouldn’t have been like you if you were not keeping a few secrets.” 

“I-I told Silna. Or rather, she took the book from me so I had no choice,” James pointed out. 

Silna stuck her tongue out at him and smiled. 

“It is a very long story. It took me a few years to explain it all to my younger self… the version of me that you all knew,” Goodsir said with a sigh. 

“What happened to him?” Collins asked. 

“He was eaten… If you see him here, I know it will be hard but you must not go near him. He will only hurt you,” Goodsir warned. He sadly glanced down at Silna whose hands had begun to tremble. 

“What is this place?” Thomas asked. 

“This ship, the ice that surrounds us, it became our home. Our grave.” As the good doctor spoke, James slowly looked down at Francis, the fiery-haired boy’s face hidden under the brim of his hat. 

Goodsir tried his best to tell the long, painful story to the group of bewildered teenagers, tried his best to answer their stumbling questions. Watching their confused faces, he felt a wave of sadness crash over him. As much as they looked like the men he had known, he had died with, they were just teenagers wearing uniforms that were slightly too big for them, the sleeves too long, their hats not quite fitting properly. They were teenagers coming to terms with something they were never supposed to know, something that did not fit into the jigsaw puzzle that was their reality; birthday cake, hot summer nights and heavy backpacks making up the pieces. 

“So, are we in the past then?” Thomas asked, cutting Goodsir off mid-sentence. He surprised him; it was something the Thomas Jopson he knew would never have done. Goodsir shook his head. 

“Not quite… As..." Goodsir trailed off as he glanced at James. He smiled. "As Captain Fitzjames said, this is a memory. Or rather, we are in a world created by memories, old and new, but they are all ours. Some of you have been here before,” he explained, glancing around the room. James fidgeted with the same gold button. He’d loosen the thread if he kept playing with it. Francis took a deep breath while Collins stared at the floor, his brow furrowed. “Mr Hickey is using this place to try to kill you. Well… He does not have to kill you. Why should he when your own memories of things you fear will do it for him? You must be careful.” 

“How do we get out?” Francis asked sharply. 

“You came in here to find Lieutenant Irving’s spyglass, did you not?” 

“It was John’s?” Henry blurted out. 

“I’m surprised he is not with you if I’m being honest,” Goodsir said as he looked around the group. The teenagers glanced at each other; he was supposed to be with them today. “The spyglass and one other object; a boat knife, is why you call your little town home. On the way back, one of those failed rescue expeditions stopped in port. One crew member set down a crate on the dock, thinking it was nothing important. And there it sat till after the ship left. That spyglass and the knife were our shot at getting home, all of us attaching to them in hope we would go home. But alas, that was not meant to be. We’re all still stuck to them. However, if someone were to destroy these objects, well that would set us all free. My younger self knew this but he made a mistake. He thought as you call him, the man with the bloody smile, had the knife. He thought he could stop him if he got a hold of it. However, he was wrong. The boy you know has it.” 

“So once we get out of here we have to go fight Hickey?” Edward groaned. 

“Unless we can convince him to give it up,” James suggested. 

“That asshole shoved me into a locker in ninth grade! We are not gonna get him to listen to us!” Thomas cried. 

"And he ate us the first time around! Were you listening to Goodsir?" Henry added. 

“I’ve fought with him as much as you have. But we know why now. Maybe we can help him this time! Maybe this time we won’t fuck up!” 

“You’re being awfully kind!”

“He hates us!”

“That’s a shit plan, James!” 

“What else do we have, idiot?” 

“Do your parents let you swear like this at home?” Goodsir sighed. 

“James is right,” Francis said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the back of the chair. He turned his icy gaze up to the boy who sat on the table beside him. “Perhaps we should try to soften the blow…” James slowly nodded, a smile pulling at his lips. “Do you know where the spyglass is?” Francis turned back to the good doctor who shrugged. 

“It is in this maze somewhere,” Goodsir sighed. 

“What about Captain James?” the tall boy sitting atop the desk asked. “Where is he?” James’s tone was laced with worry. 

“Mr Hickey forced him out. He wanted to separate you. He understands how much you view him as a guardian and rely on him. I would not worry however, he will find you. You should focus on finding the spyglass if that is what you choose to do. It will not be easy,” Goodsir explained. James stared down at his boots and the initials on the leather. 

“Why are you here then?” Henry asked. “How come you weren’t forced out?” 

“Mr Hickey has learned not to underestimate me. He also knows I cannot help you. All I have is advice,” the good doctor sighed. 

“How can we trust you?” Edward asked. 

“Because I died for you,” the good doctor said. 

Silna stared up at him with wide eyes. 

Before anyone could say anything, the ship around them let out a groan. The floor shifted violently under their feet, James nearly toppling off the table. Francis grabbed onto his arm, stopping his fall. 

“W-What was that? The ice?” Francis asked. 

“No… You need to get out of here,” Goodsir said firmly. 

“And go where?” Collins asked as the ship shifted again, the wood groaning in what sounded like pain. 

“The ice,” Francis suddenly said as he got up, lunging for the door. He pushed past Henry, his hand reaching for the wall to keep his balance. The others hesitated but another screaming groan from the wood forced them to move, hurrying after Francis. 

Silna reached for Goodsir, holding onto his hand tightly. 

“It is alright… Go,” the good doctor urged her towards the door. “Go, please!” 

The ship teetered even further. 

James could swear that in a moment they would be running on the wall. The lamplight flickered. A beam fell from the ceiling, the teenager’s screams echoing over the groan of the ship. 

“Come on!” James yelled, holding his hand out to Collins, helping him jump over the fallen beam. They scrambled towards the hatch, the ladder at a nauseating angle. Francis reached the top, helping the others climb out after him. Silna looked back over her shoulder, looking for Goodsir but he was nowhere to be seen. 

A shadow flickered across the wall. 

She gritted her teeth and began to climb the ladder, reaching for Francis. As he pulled her up onto the deck, the whole ship shifted again. The teenagers screamed as they lost their footing on the slippery deck. 

Silna stumbled backwards, her hand slipping from Francis's as she fell back down the ladder. 

James panicked as he began sliding down the ice, towards the railing and the unforgiving ice below it. 

Francis grabbed onto a rope, sliding down towards James, slamming into him. The older boy gripped the rope, his other hand holding onto James as tightly as he could. “Fuck!” Francis snarled through gritted teeth. 

Collins scrambled to grab onto anything he could, his bare hand landing on a frozen canon. His eyes widened as he felt his skin stick to the frigid surface. His scream of pain echoed across the deck, nearly lost to the sound of the ship’s screams as she teetered even further, pushed upwards and onto her side. He looked up at Edward and Thomas who had managed to grab onto the edge of the hatch; Thomas calling down the ladder to Silna and reaching for her hand. 

Near them, Henry clung onto another fallen rope, staring up at its fraying knot with wide, terrified eyes. 

James managed to look up at Henry. 

The ship shifted again. 

The rope the boy was clinging to snapped. 

Henry screamed as he slid down the deck. 

James reached desperately for him, his fingers just missing his hand. The boy slammed into the railing. 

“Dundy!” James cried. The dazed boy struggled to focus as he laid against the railing, his hat slipping from his head. Blood dripped to the frozen wood. “Dundy!” James wrenched his arm from Francis’s grip, sliding further down the deck. He grabbed onto the rope and stretched his hand as far as he could towards his best friend. “Get up! Grab my hand!” James yelled, his breath swirling around him. 

“I-It hurts, James!” Henry managed to gasp. 

“I know, I know it hurts… Just grab my hand. The ship, she’s going to move again, Dundy. You need to grab my hand before it does!” James pleaded. Henry took a deep breath, struggling to push himself to his knees. He reached his hand towards the tall boy. 

Their fingers grazed against each other. 

“Come on!” James said through gritted teeth, trying to stretch his arm even further. 

James’s eyes suddenly widened in horror. 

A pale hand reached over the railing, it’s icy fingers curling around Henry’s ankle. 

“Henry!” James screamed. 

The hand pulled. 

The boy staggered back, not even having time to scream as he stumbled over the edge of the railing, falling to the cruel ice below. 

James stared at the spot where Henry had just been with wide eyes. “N-No!” he suddenly wailed. “Henry!” The boy started to slide down the ice towards the railing. Francis caught up to him, wrapping his arm around him tightly despite James hitting at him. “We need to help him! Dundy!” James screamed. “Dundy!” Francis looked back up at the others, all of them staring in shock. He managed to gesture to them to get back down the hatch. 

“James… We can’t do anything for him. More of us would get-” 

“Shut up!” James screamed, struggling against Francis. “We need to...We have to… Henry!” Francis scanned the sharply angled deck, his eyes stinging with tears. He took a deep breath as he looked back up at the open hatch, watching as Collins struggled to crawl down, blood oozing down his wrist. 

“Come on, James… Come on…” Francis gasped as he tried to pull them back up. “James! You need to help me!” The crying boy shook his head. “James!” The older boy grit his teeth and kept moving, sweating under his heavy coat. They reached the hatch, Francis gripping the edge tightly and hauling himself and James up. 

The two boys tumbled down the ladder. 

Francis braced himself to the land on the wood floor but instead, they landed in a pile of blankets and pillows decorated with cartoon characters and soft colours. 

The older boy looked down at himself, the rabbit ears on his hood flopping down over his face. He was dressed in pyjama pants and fuzzy socks, his grey hood giving him the appearance of a bunny. He had worn such a thing when he was five years old, when he built the blanket fort they had tumbled into; dimly illuminated by a small circular lamp that projected stars onto the blanket walls and ceiling. 

James struggled to breathe between his sobs. He lay in a heap of blankets, dressed in a matching pyjama shirt and pants dotted with blue polka dots. He pressed his face into the blanket, the familiar smell of Francis’s childhood home washing over him. He gasped for air, tears soaking into the soft fabric. Francis’s hand gently rested on his shoulder. 

“James…” Francis said softly. “I-I’m sorry…” 

“He’s gone… Hickey killed him. I saw it,” James gasped between sobs. “He killed him! He’s going to kill all of us. What’s the point?” 

“James, look at me!” Francis gripped his shoulder tightly. James slowly rolled onto his back, looking up at the older boy through his curls of hair that had fallen over his face. A small, sobbing laugh tore itself from James’s chest. He reached up for one of the soft rabbit ears dangling over Francis’s face. “James…What did you tell me? We can soften the blow. We have to try, for Henry.” 

“B-Bunny ears…” 

“James!” 

“For Henry…” James sniffled. His bottom lip wobbled and more sobs forced their way out of his aching chest. Francis gently wiped away the tears on his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, James…” Francis whispered, cupping the tall boy’s tear-stained face in his hands. “We’ll stop him… We’ll stop all of this. And then we can be happy, hmm?” 

“Happy…” James repeated, his voice cracking painfully. Francis nodded. “C-Can we just stay here for a little bit?” 

“We can for a few moments,” Francis said gently. “But then we have to go, okay?” 

“Okay…” James nodded as Francis laid down beside him, the soft grey rabbit ears on his hoodie flopping onto the pillow. “I saw his hand… he killed him, Francis.” The older boy reached for James’s hand. He stared up at the little stars dancing across the blanket ceiling. “I-I could have saved him. I could have saved Harry…” 

“James…” 

“I could have-” 

“James. You did everything you could,” Francis said gently as he rolled onto his side to face the tall boy. “You’re brave, James. I know you are.” 

“Just like him,” James spat out angrily. Francis frowned. “I didn’t go to sea when I was twelve, I went to middle school and broke my arm playing dodgeball. I didn’t go on expeditions, I didn’t-” 

The sound of a door closing somewhere on the other side of the blanket wall made the two boys jump. 

Francis sat up, glancing hesitantly between James and the blanket. 

“W-Wait here…” Francis breathed. He awkwardly climbed over James and reached for the blanket, pulling it back. The fiery-haired boy stepped out of the blanket fort and into the hallway of his university dormitory, his tweed coat feeling too heavy and his polished shoes too tight. His breath caught in his throat as he took in the old hallway. 

“W-Where are we? Where are the others?” James asked from where he knelt in the entrance to the fort. Francis glanced down at him, now at a loss for words. He wanted to crawl back inside the fort but James was already standing up, adjusting his white sweater and wiping lint off his old jeans. One of his running shoes was untied. “Francis?” 

A door at the end of the hall opened, light spilling onto the floor. 

A girl’s laugh floated down the hall, sweet with love. “Francis!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry again that this took so long. Things have been really hard lately and it's been difficult to sit down and write. I'm feeling a bit better now and I'm really happy to have this chapter up! Thank you again so so so much for your love and patience, it really means the world to me. Thank you <3


	7. the ghoul

Edward Little had always hated blood. 

The sight of it made him queasy.

Staring at Collin’s bleeding hand, his stomach rolled violently. 

He took a deep breath, turning away from the whimpering boy. His big eyes took in the glittering lights that danced across the gymnasium ceiling and the white and blue streamers hanging from the rafters, some with great sparkling paper snowflakes. A disco ball spun lazily from the rafters. A little dusting of white confetti, meant to be snow, littered to the floor. 

Lowering his gaze to the old suit he had borrowed from his brother, with a Christmas themed bowtie, Edward realized that they had fallen into a happy memory. He remembered this night, remembered how everyone was excited about the school’s Winter dance, a send-off before the holidays. It was the last dance they all went to together before Francis graduated. 

Before their whole world as they understood it, birthday cake, long summer days and Saturday morning cartoons, shattered. 

Before Harry disappeared. 

Before Henry’s hand slipped from James’s grasp. 

The boy’s eyes stung with tears. 

He pressed his sleeve against his eyes, trying to swallow down the rock of grief that had settled in his throat. 

“Henry is really gone…” Thomas whispered from where he sat on the gym floor, one of the small pieces of white confetti in his hands. Another sparkling piece had landed in his hair. Edward watched as he brushed it away, tucking the strands of hair that had fallen in his eyes behind his ear. 

“I mean… We only saw him fall. Maybe he made it. Dundy has been through worse,” Edward tried to reassure him. “Him and James. You’ve seen what they get up to.” 

“I-It was bad this time, Edward,” Thomas breathed. He glanced up as Collins let out a gasp of pain. The trembling boy tried to hold his hand steady as Silna wrapped the creamy coloured shawl she had been wearing around his hand to try to stop the bleeding. Her sparkly, coffee-coloured tulle dress puffed up around her. It reminded Edward of the tiramisu cakes his mother liked to have on her birthday; it always had to be tiramisu. 

Silna offered Collins a reassuring smile. 

“Where are Francis and James?” Collins managed to ask as Silna tied the shawl tightly. The teenagers looked around the gymnasium, finding no one else but themselves. Edward rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. 

He had just wanted to go to the beach today. 

“S-Should we keep moving?” Thomas asked quietly. 

“Maybe it’d be better if we stayed here. James and Francis could find us that way, right?” Collins whispered. “Besides… it feels safe here.” Edward glanced around the glittering room. 

Collins was right, it did feel safe. 

“Why would Hickey send us here though?” Thomas wondered, his voice wobbling. “Why would he send us somewhere safe?” The small group of teenagers were silent for a moment. White, snow-like confetti fluttered through the warm air and landed on the gymnasium floor around them. 

Silna glanced over her shoulder as though looking for someone. 

Around her wrist was the pretty white rose tied to a ribbon that Harry had given her. 

“What if it wasn’t him?” Collins breathed. “This isn’t just Hickey’s creation, Goodsir told us that. It’s all of our memories.” 

“Who would have wanted to send us here then?” Thomas asked, his brow furrowing. He was dressed in a blue suit with a white bowtie; every one that night had laughed when they saw him. Thomas had merely stuck his tongue out at them. 

“Perhaps it was one of our ghosts?” Collins wondered, hugging his knees to his chest. He wore a black bomber jacket over his nice white shirt and tie. His old skater shoes stuck out from his neatly ironed trousers. He looked around the dimly lit room, watching the confetti. “Whoever it is wants us to feel safe.” 

Silna nodded in agreement, the flyaways from her bun falling around her face. 

The teenagers sat for a moment longer. Edward even dared to close his eyes as he took a deep breath. 

Silna stood up first, smoothing her hands over her ruffled cake-like skirts. 

How she had loved this dress when she got it, wearing it around her room for days just to watch the way the tulle floated around her. Running her hands over the fabric dotted with little sequins, she thought of how it now hung in her closet, mostly forgotten, adorned only with dust now. 

She turned away from the boys, her dark gaze landing on a table across the room surrounded by blue, silver and white balloons. It was not the only table in the gymnasium, many other groups of friends had claimed their own as a safe harbour to eat sickly sweet cupcakes, gossip about who had come alone and laugh at jokes that wouldn’t be funny in a year.

The boys watched Silna cross the gymnasium, her beige, silky flats clicking softly on the polished floor. She reached the table, a heavy silence hanging over the gymnasium. Resting on the white table cloth, among the scattered white confetti, was a polaroid camera.

Beside it was a photo; a photo Silna knew well. 

In the photo, a group of teenagers were gathered around the very table she now stood in front of. A girl sat in the middle, her chin resting in her hand. The silver sequins on the bodice of her coffee coloured dress were glittering. To her right, three boys, one of them in a blue suit, were smiling at the camera; John, Edward and Thomas. Edward had his arm around John’s shoulders, the shorter boy forever frozen mid-laugh. To her left, a fiery-haired boy dressed in a neat navy blue suit smiled politely for the camera despite the tall boy who leaned heavily on his shoulder, trying to get into the photo and in doing so had gotten as close to the older boy as he could. The velvet of his deep red suit jacket glinted in the flash. Behind him, Henry was laughing, probably at James. Silna couldn’t remember. 

Behind the camera though, she remembered how Harry had smiled. She remembered him watching the photo slide out of the camera and shaking it while the others had turned their attention back to the dance, back to their food, back to the joke they were telling, back to the present. Harry had smiled as he watched the photo appear. 

“Here, you can have it,” Harry had said, holding the photo to Silna. She had blinked, a little surprised that he didn’t want to keep it. She looked down at the photo, a small smile pulling at her lips. 

Edward couldn’t help but watch the two of them, not quite paying attention, but just noticing enough; the way she ran her thumb over the photo, her nail polish glittering under the glowing lights, the small smile on her lips and the sparkle in Harry’s eyes as he watched her. 

“How late does this whole thing go?” John asked with a yawn. 

“Oh come on, John. Staying up late now and again isn’t going to kill you,” Henry laughed as he bit into a cupcake. 

“Close your mouth! That’s disgusting” John shot back. Edward smiled as he leaned against the table. He was tired too but seeing his friends excited made it a little easier to fight back his yawns. He turned, watching as James tugged Francis back out onto the dance floor, his laugh lost to the music. As the tall boy rocked his head back and forth, his hair flopped in and out of his face. The velvet of his suit jacket glinted under the icy disco ball. His navy blue running shoes thudded against the gym floor. Francis laughed and shook his head but James was determined; he would get the fiery-haired boy to dance. 

Anyone watching could see the way the older boy’s hands reached for James’s shoulders, the way his thumb drifted over his velvet shoulders. 

Anyone watching could have seen the way the taller boy laughed, his voice breathless as he sang along to the music in a gasping serenade to the fiery-haired boy, his eyes glittering like the disco ball above him. 

Edward turned away from the two boys, finding himself joining a conversation he hadn’t heard the beginning of. His friends' laughter roared around him, the dark-haired boy too late to laugh. Instead, he merely smiled at his laughing friends. John sank into the chair beside him, meeting his smiling gaze. John laid his head in his arms. The corner of his smile was still visible. 

“I’m going to sleep in tomorrow,” John said, his voice muffled by his arms. 

“What? And break your routine?” Edward laughed as he patted John’s knee. 

“John Irving sleeping in? Is the world ending?” Thomas said, his eyes dramatically wide. 

“Shut up.” 

“What you need is to dance!” Thomas laughed as he got up. Edward watched as he got up and reached for the tired boy. John’s protests were ignored as Thomas hauled him to his feet, tugging him towards the dance floor. “You too, Ned!” The boy groaned as he got up, following the two boys. Thomas jumped around him, grabbing his hands in an attempt to get him to dance along. Henry suddenly jumped towards them, James close behind. 

Their shoes thudded against the wooden floor as they jumped in time to the music. 

Their lungs were gasping for air but getting every lyric out that they had learned from the radio and their headphones while they danced alone in their rooms, were more important. 

In this moment, nothing else mattered. 

In this moment, neither of them thought that this was their last year fully together, that come summer Francis would leave and the summer after, they would all leave too. They didn’t think about tomorrow, about the homework that was due or about the ghosts in their quiet homes. 

None of them thought about snow, about glass in their joints or the metallic twang of blood on their tongues. 

For now, it was just the music and the feeling that they might fly with every jump. 

When the song ended, Edward could barely catch his breath. 

“I’m gonna get some air!” Edward tried to yell at Thomas and John who didn’t hear him for the next song had already begun. Edward turned away, slipping through the crowd of teenagers. He passed the snack table where a younger curly-haired boy stood with a few of his friends. 

Collins barely noticed Edward as he passed. 

Edward pushed his way to the doors, stepping out into the quiet hall. Icy streamers hung from the ceiling. The door closed and the music became muffled, only the thud of the music, like faint heartbeats, could be heard. 

The boy made his way down the dimly lit hallway, the blue and white coloured streamers clinging to his shoulders as he passed. He reached the doors at the end of the hall, the metal handle cool to the touch. He pushed open the door, snow crunching under his shoes. He stood at the top of the stairs, glancing around the snow-covered parking lot. 

Standing around a blue convertible were a group of boys, their laughter drifting across the ice. The occasional flicker of a flame from a little lighter caught Edward’s eye. Hickey sat on the hood of the car, tapping his hand against the cold blue metal in time to the faint thud of the music. He smiled at Tozer and the two shorter boys beside him, William and Tommy if Edward remembered right. Watching the laughing boys, who for most of Edward’s short life had tormented him, he couldn’t help but smile. 

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Edward turned his gaze back up to the sky. It was clear tonight, the stars dancing along to the music. He smiled, his breath swirling around him. He took one last breath of crisp, cold air before turning back to the door, pulling it open. 

He stepped inside. 

Rocks under his boots nearly made the boy stumble. 

Edward gasped as he struggled to right himself. Slowly he looked up, the round hat atop his head nearly falling off as he looked around the grey, foggy world that now surrounded him. Tents, seemingly made from the rocks themselves, faced him in all directions. The boy spun around in confusion, his heavy navy blue coat swirling around him. 

He could no longer hear the music. 

The only sounds were the rocks under his boots and the wind but for a moment, he thought it was a scream. 

“Hello?” Edward called out nervously, his heart thudding in his chest. “John? Thomas?” Edward called out as he stumbled across the rocks, nearly falling into one of the tents. “Francis? Where…” He gasped as he turned the corner of the tent. 

A figure standing in the fog made the boy freeze. 

Terror jolted through the boy, gripping his heart. He could barely breath as the figure suddenly stepped towards him. 

Blood dripped to the rocks. 

“Mr Little…No one can see you here. They will think you’ve run off,” the man with the bloody smile said gently as he stepped towards the boy. Edward stumbled backwards, tripping over his own boots. He crashed to the rocks, pain shooting through his head. 

The man with the bloody smile suddenly lunged for him, his fingers reaching for his throat. 

A hand suddenly curled around the man’s wrist, stopping him before his bloody hands could even touch the boy. 

“That’s enough, Mr Hickey.”

The man smiled, blood dripping onto the boy’s coat. Edward managed to tear his gaze away from his red teeth long enough to glance up at the second man that now stood over him. He was dressed in a dark coat just like Edward’s, a black cap resting atop his head, a few strands of reddish hair daring to escape it. His icy gaze was locked on the man with the bloody smile who simply stared back, an amused glint shining in his eyes. 

“Come now, Mr Crozier-” 

“Enough. Leave the boy alone.” 

The man’s bloody smile widened. 

“I’d like to see you do anything about it.” 

The rocks under Edward’s back suddenly disappeared as the Captain threw down the man’s wrist, sending him stumbling backwards. 

Edward managed to sit up, his gloved hands pressed against the floor of the great cabin that now surrounded them. He could feel the motion of a ship, his stomach rolling with it. The man with the bloody smile regained his balance, gripping the door frame tightly as the Captain put himself between him and the boy. 

“You’re not welcome here,” the man said firmly. The door suddenly slammed, shutting out the man who if given the chance, would have choked the life from the boy. Slowly, the Captain turned to look down at Edward, kneeling in front of him. “Are you alright?” 

“C-Cro…” Edward gasped. “Crozier?” 

Captain Crozier simply smiled. 

“Where am I?” Edward breathed. 

“Right where you are supposed to be.”

The ship melted away. 

Edward now found himself sitting on the cool hallway lined with blue lockers. The icy streamers hanging from the ceiling fluttered to and fro. He could hear the music, laughter and young voices. Edward looked up at the Captain with wide eyes. “Do not be scared, Edward. You’re a good boy.” He offered a hand to Edward, helping him stand. He smoothed the shoulders of the boy’s suit jacket. “Why don’t you go back to the party? Hmm?” 

“I-I will…” Edward stammered as the Captain let go of his shoulders. 

“Edward!” John’s voice called down the hallway. The boy turned, blinking back his shock. “Where did you go?” 

“Just to get some…” Edward trailed off as he turned to look back at the Captain but he had disappeared. John grabbed his hand and pulled him back through the doors to the gymnasium. Edward could barely think as he made his way back to their table. 

Across the gymnasium, the young Francis Crozier laughed as he watched James jump and spin. The boy turned his head away from James for only a moment, his gaze landing on Edward as he stumbled back to the table. Francis’s smile wavered. 

Slowly, Edward sat down beside Silna, staring at the photograph that laid on the white table cloth. He rubbed the back of his head. 

Over a year later, sitting at that same table, Edward once more found himself staring at that same photograph, at Henry and Harry. Edward’s fingers pressed against the back of his head, feeling for a phantom bruise. 

Edward tore his gaze away from the photograph, looking over his shoulder at the empty gymnasium and the glittering, icy lights that danced along the walls despite the heavy silence that hung over them. 

“Someone who wants us to feel safe…” Edward breathed. Collins frowned at him. 

“What should we do?” Thomas asked from where he sat on Silna’s left, his head resting on his arms. He looked exhausted. 

“Staying here doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” Collins muttered. 

Silna shook her head. 

“She’s right. We can’t stay. We need to find James and Francis. I hope they are alright,” Thomas said quietly. “Goodsir said some of us had been here… in this memory land, before. I haven’t… have any of you?” 

Silna shook her head again. 

“I have…” Collins whispered. The three teenagers looked up at him with wide eyes. “Well… not like this.” He took a deep breath. “I saw them… us… whatever you want to call them. Ghosts. Of us. I saw them haunting our houses and following us around but I never really put two and two together till now. I thought they were just ghosts. Now I understand they are more than that.” 

“How did you see them?” Edward asked. 

“It’s like diving,” Collins said after a moment of thought. “Aw man, I’ve never said this out loud before. Basically, I figured out that if I focus really hard, it’s like I dive down really deep into the ocean. I just let the current take me wherever it wants me to go. And I only open my eyes when I hit the bottom,” the boy managed to explain. Edward blinked. “I think I have a superpower.” 

“I think that’s called meditation. My mom does that,” Thomas said. 

Silna pressed a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. 

“Shut up! It’s not like that!” 

“You said you’ve seen our ghosts?” Edward asked. 

“I have. At first, they didn’t really notice me. They were just focused on… on us, really. One time, I saw Captain Fitzjames. I think I dove down and found myself in James’s backyard. At least I think it was, I’ve never gone over to his house. This was years ago too, I think I was thirteen. Anyways, I saw James and his brother on their trampoline and then I turned around and sitting on the porch steps was a man and he was dressed in the uniforms like the ones we were wearing earlier. He just seemed… kinda happy, I guess. I think he liked the sunshine,” Collins explained. 

Silna pointed to herself, her brow raised questioningly. 

“I’ve seen you all too,” Collins said quietly. He looked down at the tablecloth, fidgeting with his sleeve. 

“What is it?” Thomas asked. 

“You and Edward… Your ghosts scare me,” Collins whispered. 

“W-Why?” Thomas breathed. Collins shook his head. 

Edward met Thomas’s wide-eyed gaze. 

“What did you see at the Redoubt?” Edward breathed, remembering how the boy had screamed, how he had fallen to the earth in a state of horror Edward didn’t think possible. 

“Oh my god…” Thomas got up from the table suddenly, his chair falling to the floor with an echoing bang. “No. No, I don’t want to do this anymore!” the boy cried, his voice shaking. “Screw the spyglass. Screw all of this. I want to go home!” 

“What happened at the Redoubt?” Collins dared to ask. 

“I-I saw him! I saw me!” Thomas cried, his voice breaking painfully. “What has to happen for someone to die like that? Why didn’t anyone help?” Edward got up quickly, reaching for the crying boy who hit his hands away. “I was begging…” 

“Thomas.” 

“I want to go home!” 

“We can’t go home!” Edward suddenly yelled at him. “We have to fight through this to get home! Just like we had to fight before! But this time… this time we’ll go home.” 

“How do you know? Dundy isn’t going home! Harry isn’t going home! What if one of us is next?” Thomas gasped. 

“One of us could be next,” Edward said quietly. “But I’m not going to leave any of you. We’re all getting out of here, okay?” 

“Okay,” the shorter boy whispered. 

“So we should keep moving then?” Collins asked quietly. Edward nodded as he turned around. 

“As Thomas said, we need to find Francis and James. And we need to find John’s spyglass too. I don’t think we should leave without it,” Edward said. 

Silna nodded in agreement. 

Collins sighed as he got up. He glanced down at Silna who still held the photo tightly in her hand. Slowly, she set the photo down on the table. She pressed her hand against it for a moment longer before getting up, the tulle layers of her dress swirling around her. 

She met Edward’s soft gaze and nodded. 

“Let’s go,” Edward breathed. The four teenagers started across the gymnasium towards the heavy doors, past the icy coloured streamers and balloons. Lights shimmered on the walls and danced across the floor. 

No music played. 

Edward reached the doors first, opening only one of them. He held it open for the others, none of them saying a word as they stepped into the dark hallway. Edward took one last look around the sanctuary they had found themselves in. He searched the shadows of the room for the familiar Captain but he was nowhere to be seen. With a sigh, Edward turned away from the gym. 

The heavy door closed with a metallic clang. 

The hallway ahead of them was long and straight; there was nowhere else to go. Torn, icy coloured streamers hung from the rotting ceiling. Melted snow pooled on the floor. Leaning against the lockers was James’s bicycle, rusting away in the cold hallway. The silver, scratchy letters spelling out ‘ _Erebus_ ’ on the side glinted in the murky light. Laying on the floor was an old rifle, it’s white band snaking across the wet tiles. Edward’s shoe kicked against a red tin can. He watched it roll across the wet floor, coming to a stop by the flattened back wheel of James’s bicycle. 

“This feels like a junkyard,” Collins whispered as they slowly made their way down the dark, wet hallway. The lights overhead flickered erratically. They stepped over a tipped over crate, it’s precious old measurement devices spilt across the wet floor. Their dirty brass sides glinted under the white, flickering light. They kept moving, stepping over what looked like Francis’s old white backpack. One of the lockers hung open, a heavy, damp navy blue coat hanging from the corner of the door. Gold buttons, pins collected over the years and colourful sweater buttons littered the floor. 

Further down the hall, the floor was covered in paper. Math homework, pages ripped from a journal, postcards and old parchment paper covered in a sprawling hand. Edward bent down, picking up one of the cold, damp pages. 

In the centre was printed text, first in English than in a few other languages. Surrounding it was a jumble of handwriting, sprawling up and down the sides and even upside down, the writer trying desperately to convey their dying message. At the top of the page, two upside-down signatures caught Edward’s eye. He slowly flipped the page, Captain Crozier and Captain Fitzjames’s names sprawling across the top. 

“Edward?” Thomas called out to him from up ahead. Edward set the page back down where he had found it and hurried after the others. The lockers disappeared, replaced by blank walls dotted with framed photos, loose polaroids held up with tape, gold-framed paintings and daguerreotypes. 

The four teenagers slowly came to a stop. 

In front of them were three classroom doors; one straight ahead, one to the left and one to the right. 

“Which way do we go?” Collins asked quietly. 

“Which way would Lieutenant Irving go?” Thomas wondered. 

“How are we supposed to know that?” Collins cried, his voice echoing down the hall. 

Silna glanced nervously over her shoulder. A shadow flickered against the lockers. 

“Goodsir said we are like fragments right? Of them? So there must be something about us that is just like who we used to be,” Edward said quietly. “There are parts of us that would be different from them though, or maybe just slightly off. O-One time I broke my mom’s favourite vase. It was an accident but she still made me glue it back together again. It was still the same vase but it never quite stood upright again. It was a little different.” 

“So… there is something about the John we know that is similar to Lieutenant Irving?” Thomas breathed as he glanced from door to door. “But also something about him that’s different than Lieutenant Irving...”

“He hates celery?” Edward said with a shrug. 

“Don’t be stupid.” 

“No… He likes things a certain way,” Edward tried to explain. He ran a stressed hand through his dark hair, his gaze drifting over the doors. “John likes things to be neat. Haven’t you ever had a meal with his family?” 

“No, I haven’t,” Thomas said with a shrug. 

Footsteps echoed behind them, the four teenagers looking nervously over their shoulders. Edward’s heart pounded in his chest. 

“Well, it’s all very put together. Potatoes go here and the meat is in this dish and bread rolls get served in this dish. And when he puts it all on his plate it’s very neat, each thing has its own place where it goes. And he always eats his bread roll last,” Edward explained, a small smile pulling at his lips. 

“So what do bread rolls have to do with these doors?” Collins asked, his tone laced with confusion. 

“Routine,” Edward said. “His bedroom is on the right side of the hallway and for as long as I’ve known him, his bed has always been under the window to the right of the room and his desk always beside it.” 

Silna gestured to the door on the right; she had had a class with him in a classroom that was on the right of the hall. 

“But this is all the John we know,” Thomas pointed out. “What about Lieutenant John?” 

“Goodsir… Dr Goodsir that is, when we met him, he was shy like Harry and he didn’t always seem sure of his words, much like Harry was. But he seemed hardened, unlike Harry. Goodsir seemed angry,” Edward said quietly. “I think if Goodsir were here, he’d go straight ahead,” Edward dared to say. 

“John knows right. And… right means good in the church, right?” Thomas asked quietly. Edward nodded. 

The footsteps in the dark hallway behind them sounded closer now. They could hear the water on the floor splashing under heavy boots. 

“Hurry,” Collins begged. 

“John is the only one I know who always gets up before the sun rises. He’s dedicated,” Edward said. His gaze drifted to the door on the right. “But he feels safe in what he understands.” 

“Do… Do you think that’s from Lieutenant Irving?” Thomas asked. 

“I don’t know any other eighteen-year-old who does that,” Collins said with a nervous shrug. 

“There’s only one way to find out,” Edward said as he took a step towards the door on the right. His hand shook as he reached for the door handle. 

He preyed he knew his friend as well as thought he did as he pushed the door open. 

A blast of cold air swept around them, snow drifting around Edward’s shoes. 

He stepped through the door, the Arctic wind tugging at his heavy, navy blue coat. He pulled his collar closer, frowning when he felt the rustling of something papery atop his hat. He heard the others giggle as he reached up, taking off his hat and that it was paper made into the shape of a turnip. 

The boy hated turnips. 

He placed his strange hat back on as the others cautiously stepped through the door, the snow crunching under their boots. Thomas huddled under his beige coat which nearly swallowed him whole. Beside him, Silna ran her hand over the red-tinged fur that lined her fur hood. Collins stared up at the strange structure before him, a red stringy tunic hanging over his uniform. 

“Is this a funhouse?” Thomas asked, his bottom lip rubbing against the buttoned-up collar of his coat. 

“Worst funhouse I’ve ever seen,” Collins muttered. 

Edward stared up at the tent before them. The only sound was the flicker of fire that burned from the few torches at the entrance and the canvas fighting against its ties as the wind pulled at it. He could have sworn that he heard a faint laugh and music on the wind. He also couldn’t be certain if it was the wind he heard echoing like a scream across the ice or a real scream. 

He turned, seeing the faint glow of the ships’ lanterns in the distance. 

“Should we go in?” Thomas asked. 

“Where else is there to go? Back to the ships?” Collins asked, following Edward’s gaze. 

“No… I think we’re supposed to go in there,” Edward said as he turned back to the tent. 

Silna frowned. 

“Supposed to?” Collins breathed. 

“I think Hickey wants to show us something,” Edward said as he started towards the tent. “Besides… I’m not walking across that ice again,” he added darkly. Collins, Thomas and Silna glanced hesitantly at each other. Silna quickly followed after Edward, nearly stepping on his heels as she caught up to him. Thomas and Collins were close behind. The four of them moved cautiously inside, finding themselves in a small room with a rack of coats on one side and a table full of lanterns on the other. 

At the far end of the room was a strange doorway decorated with paper flowers. Edward glanced hesitantly back at the others before stepping through the door, the icy snow crunching under his boots. He found himself in a strange room, the tent here painted blue like the warm summer sky. In front of him stood the entrance to a wooden maze, like the fences that lined the farms on the outskirts of town. Edward took a deep breath, forcing himself to enter the maze, placing one foot nervously in front of the other. 

“Did they… Did we make this?” Collins whispered as they made their way through the maze. 

Silna dragged her mittened hand along the wood, the splinters catching on the fur. 

“I think we did,” Thomas breathed. 

“Why?” Collins wondered. 

“But… why don’t Silna and I get costumes?” Thomas wondered. 

“Maybe you weren’t invited,” Collins shrugged. 

“Do you remember Dundy’s sixteenth birthday party?” Edward asked as he turned the corner, half expecting to see a ghoul. 

“Oh god, yeah,” Thomas laughed. 

Silna nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. 

“What happened?” Collins asked. 

“So Dundy sends out invitations. Instead of just giving them to us at school, he mails them to us. I guess he thought it’d make the whole thing more dramatic. Anyways, the invitation said something along the lines of a costume party and its theme was the Medieval ages. He even dipped the invitation in coffee so it’d look like old paper but it just made my whole mailbox smell like old coffee,” Edward smiled. Talking about his friend eased his pounding heart. The second corner was only a few steps away. “So we put together our costumes, I think James spent a week on his, he had a sword made out of wood and he brought his stupid shield along. I tried to be a dragon but Francis said I just looked like an overgrown lizard. He wasn’t one to talk though, his cape was made out of a polka-dotted blanket. Dundy had this huge thing planned to be like a Medieval party or something like it but we just ended up sitting on the floor of his basement eating pizza and watching movies in our costumes.” Edward laughed but the sound was choked in his throat, tears welling up in his eyes. 

“I think… I think it was the best birthday party we ever had,” Thomas said, reaching comfortingly for Edward’s shoulder. 

Silna looked down at her boots, her eyes glinting with tears. 

“I’m sorry I missed out,” Collins said quietly. “That sounds like a lot of fun.” He took a deep shaking breath. “I hope that Henry is okay. Maybe… Maybe he got lucky.” 

“But that would mean he’s alone right now,” Thomas’s voice wobbled. 

“You don’t know that. Maybe James and Francis found him,” Collins tried to reassure him as Edward turned the last corner of the maze. The boy stopped, the snow crunching under his heavy boots.

He took in the strange room that lay before him. It reminded him vaguely of the cafeteria at school with its long tables and benches, the faint smell of food lingering in the air and the even fainter sound of voices and music. 

He took a step further in the room, his gaze drifting to the small stage.

Edward froze. 

Crouched on the stage was a boy, his glittering, handmade angel wings quivering as he let out a choked, garbled sob. Attached to his knitted cap was a halo, the golden metal shimmering as the boy’s shoulders trembled. 

“J-John,” Edward gasped. Without a second thought, he started towards the boy. Silna reached for his arm, trying to stop him but the boy slipped from her grasp. “John! When did you get here?” He reached his hand out to the shaking boy. His gloved fingers rested on his shoulder. “How did you know to-” 

The shaking angel suddenly turned, his dark, bloody eyes locking onto the boy as he grabbed his arm, gripping his wrist with more strength than Edward thought humanly possible. 

His heart thundered against his rib cage; a rabbit caught in the fox’s teeth. 

John stared up at him, tears of blood slipping down his cheeks. His throat was painted with dark, cruel bruises and a red slice that oozed dark blood onto his uniform. Ropes crisscrossed his chest, holding his heavy wings onto his back. 

“Edward…” the bloody angel gasped. “L-Look upon what you’ve done..” His grip tightened on Edward’s wrist so tightly he thought the bone would break. “You said… No man gets left behind… and you left me,” the angel’s broken voice shook, strained with pain. 

“No... No, I didn’t leave you, John.” 

The angel stared up at him. Bloody tears dripped to the floor. The angel’s lips slowly pulled into a smile, his teeth stained red. He suddenly lunged for Edward. The boy stumbled backwards, crashing painfully to the snow as the angel grabbed at him, his bloody fingers curling around his throat. 

“You left me to die! You didn’t wait for me! Didn’t look for me! Just like before!” the angel screamed as he tightened his grip on the crying boy’s throat. Edward fought against him, his hands hitting the angel but could not throw him off. “You would have hanged him for what he did to me… “ His thumbs pressed cruelly against his throat. Edward gasped frantically for air. His hand slammed against the snow, clawing weakly at the ice. “Now it’ll be you who will swing-” 

A wooden board suddenly slammed into the angel’s face, throwing him off Edward. 

“Sorry, John,” Thomas gasped, gripping the board tightly. 

The angel screamed inhumanly as he collapsed against the stage. It made Thomas’s ears ring painfully, the boy wincing. 

Collins grabbed onto Edward, hauling him to his feet. 

The angel’s inhuman screams slowly turned into laughter as he pushed himself up onto his knees. Blood splattered onto the wood. 

Thomas backed away, his hands trembling. 

Silna looked around the dimly lit tent with wide eyes, searching frantically for a way out. 

“Do you smell that, Mr Collins?” the angel laughed, spitting out more blood. Collins froze. Edward clung onto him tightly, still struggling to catch his breath. “Can’t tell the difference between horrible and supper,” the angel sneered. 

“What are you…. What are you talking about?” Collins gasped. Edward didn’t give the angel any time to answer before he pulled Collins away, the two boys staggering towards the maze, Thomas close behind. 

“Where are you running to?” the angel screamed at them. “The only thing that way is hell!” 

Edward couldn’t even process what had just been said when he saw it; flames. 

A man slowly stepped around the corner of the maze. 

He was burning. 

Edward’s boots slipped on the snow as he struggled to turn away from the burning man, pulling Collins along with him. The four teenagers turned, running towards the doorway on the other side of the room. Collins looked back over his shoulder at the burning man who slowly followed them, his arms outstretched as if he would embrace him in the flames. 

The smell of grease floated towards him. 

The four teenagers stumbled through the door and out into a dark night, their shoes thudding against the pavement. Orange light from the streetlamp overhead washed over them. 

“Fuck!” Collins screamed, his hands shaking. 

Edward fell to his knees, his hands pressing against the cool pavement. Tears welled up in his eyes, his shoulders trembling with a sob. 

“I think… I think he’s dead…” Edward gasped. “Hickey got him too…” 

“What do you mean?” Thomas stammered. 

“John. I think he’s dead… Goodsir said that H-Harry might be here… that he might try to attack us. S-So why was John here?” Edward’s voice broke into a gasping sob. “God… no…” Edward leaned down, pressing his forehead against the pavement. “No…” 

Thomas gently knelt beside him, pressing his hand against his shoulders. “You don’t know that-”

The sudden sound of a tent’s canvas fluttering in the cold wind and pounding footsteps on the pavement made them all jump. 

Thomas gripped the board which had already begun to rot as if catching up with the memory they had found themselves in. He braced to swing at the two figures suddenly running towards them, staggering as their heavy boots became light, colourful running shoes. 

All six teenagers screamed at each other. 

“S-Stop it! Stop it!” Francis managed to gasp. “T-Thomas put that down…” he trailed off as his knees gave out, the fiery-haired boy collapsing to the pavement. 

“Francis!” James cried, struggling to catch him. Francis braced his hands against the pavement as he coughed and gasped for air. A thin line of bruises roped around his throat, barely visible over the collar of his orange sweater. James’s face was wet with tears, the waves he had so neatly styled that morning replaced with his usual messy mullet, his bangs mused up and over to the left side of his face. 

“I’m okay…” Francis gasped, taking a deep, heaving breath. 

“What happened to you?” Thomas asked. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” James asked, wiping away the tears on his face. 

“Um… well…” Thomas brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. “We uh…” 

“Sorry" James sighed. "You’re okay?” 

Silna managed to nod. She reached for Francis, holding his hand tightly as he tried to take another deep breath. 

“Are you okay?” Collins asked. James looked up at him for a moment before turning to Francis. The older boy nodded. 

“Fine,” he coughed. James pressed his face into Francis’s shoulder as if he could bury himself in the orange knit of his sweater. His arms tightened around him. Francis placed his hand gently on the back of James’s head, his fingers gently musing through his hair. “I’m fine..” he whispered, softer than Edward had ever heard him. 

Edward found himself looking away from the two, as if he had been caught intruding on a moment meant for only the two of them. 

When he looked back, James was helping Francis stand. 

Their fingers entwined, the older boy gently rubbing his thumb against James’s pale skin. 

“What now? We still haven’t found that stupid fucking spyglass,” Collins muttered. 

“What about John’s house? Maybe we could get there from here?” James wondered. Edward pressed his hands over his face, another uncontrollable sob shaking through him. 

“Edward?” Francis frowned. He let go of James’s hand and reached for the crying boy. “Edward? What is it?” 

“Something… Something happened,” Thomas stammered. “We think something bad happened to John.” 

“What? When?” James’s eyes widened. “How do you know?” 

“We were in this weird tent and we saw-” 

A scream echoed through the cool night air. 

The teenagers froze, staring nervously at each other. 

The scream came again. 

Francis’s look of terror slowly changed into one of confusion. “Who is that?” 

“Tozer!” the panicked scream echoed down the dark street. “Tozer, help!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh!! I'm back! I'm sorry I disappeared for a little while, things were really rough for me in September. I spent a lot of time agonizing over this chapter too. I rewrote three times before I finally came up with something I really loved. I think this chapter might be one of my favourite chapters in this whole series.  
> I really really appreciate your patience lately. It really means a lot to me. I've been reading over your comments too and they really make me feel so happy. Thank you. I'm so happy you are enjoying this story! I'm very excited about the end of this series!  
> I'm not sure exactly when the next update will be, I'm kinda throwing my schedule out the window, I'm sorry. I will be doing the Week of Terror challenge in the middle of this month so make sure you are following me on tumblr @ghosstkid! I have a few really cool little horror stories planned! I am very excited about the next chapter of this story though so it'll hopefully be sooner rather than later.  
> Again, thank you so much for your love and support. It means the world to me. Thank you.


	8. the angel

“Who is that?” James breathed as the sweet laugh drifted down the dark dormitory hallway. Francis didn’t answer him. 

He stood as if his feet had frozen to the floor, his chest rising and falling heavily with panic. 

James took a step towards the laugh. 

Francis’s hand gripped his arm tightly. 

“Francis? What is it?” 

“I-I don’t think we should go down there,” Francis managed to say. James frowned. 

“Why?” James turned to look back down the hall. The light flickered. “Do you know this place?” 

Francis did not answer. 

James’s brow furrowed. A faint tremble of annoyance caused his upper lip to twitch. He turned, yanking his wrist from Francis’s grasp. The tall boy started down the dark hallway, his footsteps muffled by the old, stained carpet. He kept his gaze on the partially open door near the end of the hall. 

“James. James!” Francis whispered desperately as he hurried after him. “James, stop! Listen to me. Please.” 

The tall boy reached the door. With a shaking hand, he pushed it open. The lamp light shown on his face, his red, teary eyes glinting in the warm glow. 

On the small, old desk, a lamp did it’s best to weakly illuminate the dorm room. Books were neatly stacked in one corner of the desk, novels on top of textbooks. A handful of pens stuck out of an old red tin can. A sweater hung off the old chair.

The bed was unmade. 

Near the foot of the bed, what looked like scarlet ink dotted the white sheet. 

The window was open, the cool early summer breeze drifting through the small room and rusting the loose papers on the desk. Among them was a postcard, read but left unanswered. 

James took a step inside the room. 

His running shoe bumped into a bottle, sending it rolling across the floor. 

James and Francis stared at the bottle with wide eyes, the rumbling sound it made as it rolled to a stop by the bed echoing almost painfully in their ears. 

“James…” Francis dared to whisper. The tall boy said nothing as he stepped further into the room. He bent down, picking up the bottle. “James.” 

“How much of what you told me was true?” James breathed, setting the bottle down on the desk. 

“I never lied to you.” 

“You just forgot to mention some things?” James snapped, his fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle. 

“Do I have to tell you everything? Can I not have my own secrets?” Francis suddenly shot back at him. 

He hated seeing James in this room; he did not belong here in this dark room where he had become the worst version of himself. 

“We’re best friends! I tell you everything!” James yelled. 

“That’s not true and you know it! You weren’t going to tell me about all of this!” Francis cried. “You kept this massive, horrible thing a secret from me for god knows how long! What else do you know that I don’t?” 

“I could ask you the same thing! You’ve been having dreams about this all your life! You never told me about that till last week! Most of the things we’ve seen probably aren’t new to you! A bit of a warning would be nice!” James hissed. 

“You don’t need to know everything that happened while I was away at school. It doesn’t matter,” Francis said with a sigh. 

“Hickey seems to think it does. Why?” James demanded. 

Francis merely looked down at his shoes. 

“Francis!” James yelled angrily. “Tell me!” 

“H-He knows what happened… hurt me,” Francis said, looking down at his shoes. 

“Why didn’t you tell me something was wrong?” James asked with a frown. The older boy curled his arm behind his back, his hand curling into a fist. His nails dug into his palm. “Francis?” 

“It’s stupid.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“I knew you’d act like this.” 

“Act like what?” James spat. 

“This isn’t important, okay? Can we move on?” Francis sighed angrily. 

“You don’t trust me?” 

“James.” 

“Francis, the last thing I want to do right now is fight with you!” James cried. “Please!” 

“You aren’t listening to me! I told you this isn’t important. We need to find Lieutenant Irving’s spyglass before Hickey gets another one of us. That’s what is important,” Francis cried. “Do you want to die like Dundy?” James stared darkly at Francis. 

“Don’t fucking say his name like that,” James snarled. “You know, Dundy was a good best friend!” 

“Oh my god,” Francis dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

“You don’t even care about what happened to him!” James cried. “Don’t you feel what has happened?” 

“I feel it, James!” Francis yelled at him. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, you aren’t. You’re just mad that I caught you,” James snapped, gripping the bottle tightly. Francis narrowed his eyes. 

“Do you really think that low of me?” Francis demanded. 

James didn’t answer him. 

Instead, he stared past Francis to the door with wide eyes. Slowly, Francis turned. 

The girl standing in the doorway smiled at him. 

“Sophia,” Francis breathed. The girl smiled. She was dressed in a green sweater and a flouncy black skirt with glittery black tights. Her golden earrings glinted in the dim, flickering light behind her. She played with her earring for a moment longer before suddenly turning away from the door and skipping down the dark, decrepit hallway. 

James started after her. 

Francis reached for his wrist. 

“Don’t, she’s not… She’s not real!” Francis stammered. 

“Then tell me who she is,” James snapped. Francis could only stare up at him with pleading eyes. “Fine. I’ll ask her myself.” The tall boy suddenly wrenched his hand from Francis’s grip and stormed through the doorway, suddenly finding himself in a dimly lit front hallway of an old house. Odd tapestries and Christmas lights hung from the walls. The smell of alcohol, weed and cigarette smoke filled the air. The tall boy wrinkled his nose as he stepped further into the strange house. A faint laugh drifted down the stairs. 

“James,” Francis stammered, trying to keep up with him. 

The sound of something falling to the floor upstairs made Francis jump. He froze, looking up at the ceiling. His hands trembled. 

The girl disappeared around the corner into the kitchen, her blonde ponytail swishing back and forth. Following her, James couldn’t help the wave of jealousy that rolled through him. Staring at her, he couldn’t decide if it was because of the way that Francis had said her name or if it was something else; the way she skipped down the dark hallway so freely, her skirt swishing around her glittery legs, her long blonde hair shining in the orange light, the pink, glossy smile on her face. He followed her through the kitchen and into a long, dark hallway. Among the old framed photos and polaroids sticking to the wall with tape and tacks were old paintings and daguerreotypes. At the end of the hallway, an old, dirty canvas hung over the doorway. The girl smiled at James before darting under the canvas and disappearing into the cold, white light beyond.

“James?” Francis called out. “James!” 

The tall boy didn’t hear his calls as he walked slowly down the dark hall, his dark gaze fixed on the odd, ragged canvas hanging over the doorway at the end of the hall. Slowly, he stepped through the tent’s entrance. 

Rocks clattered under his boots. 

James shivered, his loose white shirt sleeves quivering in the cold wind that now blew around him. He looked down at his hands which had become bruised and frail. A gasping cry caught in his throat but he could barely breathe. The boy fell to his knees, tasting blood in his mouth. 

The hem of a long, blue dress caught his eye. 

He looked up as the teenaged girl knelt in front of him, her silky skirts gathering on the rocks. She reached for his shoulder, leaning so close to him he thought she was going to kiss him. 

“I have a secret to tell you,” she whispered in his ear, her breath warm against his cold skin. 

His hands clutched the rocks as she continued to whisper in his ear. 

Her right hand brushed against his throat. 

Burning tears welled up in James’s eyes. 

He barely noticed when she finished her painful tale, slowly moving back to meet his teary gaze. 

“N-No…” James gasped. “H-He didn’t…” 

“I’m sorry,” Sophia sighed. 

“C-Captain Fitjames didn’t tell me that…. He told me he wasn’t… I wasn’t… alone,” James gasped. 

“You weren’t alone… But that wasn’t the whole truth,” Sophia breathed. James stared at her, his whole body shaking. From the cold or the shock, he couldn’t say. He wanted to scream. He wanted to lie down on the rocks and never get up again. “Francis knows,” the girl said quietly. “He got drunk and he told me one night what he had done to you. Then he tried to kiss me.”

“S-Stop,” James sobbed. 

“He claimed not to remember the next day. He was shocked when I told him,” she said with a sigh. “I think he saw it in his dreams then tried his best to forget it.” 

“Stop…” James begged. Tears slipped down his cheeks and fell to the rocks by his hands. “Stop…” 

“James!” Francis’s voice called out through the fog. 

The girl’s hand disappeared from his shoulder. 

Slowly, James pushed himself to his feet. He turned to look at Francis as he stumbled over the rocks towards him. The buttons on his vest glinted with every ragged breath. Francis staggered to a stop when he saw the look of agony on the tall boy’s face. 

A piece of paper fluttered from the sky and landed between them; a postcard. 

James looked up, watching the hundreds of postcards and old letters sprawled across old paper fall through the cold air like snow, landing at their feet and covering the rocks. The tall boy lowered his gaze back to Francis. 

“J-James…” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” the boy’s voice broke. 

“Tell you what?” 

James looked down at the letters and postcards around him. Francis called out to him again but he barely heard. Francis slowly started towards him, the paper crinkling under his boots. He hesitantly reached for James who flinched away from him. The fiery-haired boy frowned. “James… please.” 

“You killed me.” 

The cold wind swept around them, blowing the letters across the rocks like fallen, dead leaves. 

“C-Captain Crozier killed Captain-” a pained sob choked the words from James. “K-Killed Captain Fitzjames!” 

“James, I didn’t… I didn’t want to-” 

“Didn’t want to tell me?” James suddenly yelled. “You knew for God knows how long and said nothing! You looked at me and you knew this whole time….. And said nothing! God! Fuck!” James turned away from him, staggering across the rocks. “No one tells me anything! Captain Fitzjames lied to me!” 

“James!” Francis ran after him, a rock of pain swelling in his throat. “You don’t understand!” 

“I understand enough!” James snapped. “You don’t want to tell me anything. You didn’t tell me about this and you didn’t tell me about Sophia! Why didn’t you tell me? Then I could have gotten over…” the boy trailed off. He forced himself to keep walking. 

“Over what, James?” Francis cried. “Gotten over what?” 

“Leave me alone!” James yelled back at him. Through the fog, he could faintly make out the rectangular shape of a door rising from the rocks. He kept walking towards it. He didn't know where he was going but so long as it was away from Francis, he didn’t care. 

The tall boy stumbled through the door. 

The golden epaulettes on his shoulders glinted in the warm lamplight, the tails of his navy blue swirling around him. Francis followed him. 

“I said leave me alone!” James yelled at him, the gold buttons that adorned him sparkling as his chest rose and fell with anger. 

He wished the older boy would just leave; why did he have to follow him? 

“No! James! You were just angry with me for not talking! Well, now I’m talking!” Francis cried, his white-gloved hands curling into fists. 

Suddenly, James was yelling at him louder than he ever had. The furious words tumbled out of him; there was no stopping them. It didn’t take much for Francis to start yelling back at him. James wasn’t even quite sure what he was saying only that it felt good. He turned sharply on his heel, stomping down the narrow hallway, away from Francis. The fiery-haired boy was on his heels. James whirled around, spitting in the older boy’s face as he screamed at him. 

His upper lip curled with fury as Francis yelled back at him. 

James didn’t grace him with an answer as he turned again, stomping down the hallway. Francis’s angry words chased after him. 

“You’ll show me what I’m due!” Francis yelled at him as they stormed into the captain’s quarters at the end of the hall. James looked around wildly; he wanted to slam a door in Francis’s face so badly. 

“I don’t know what you’re due!” James snarled as he started towards the smaller cabin. 

“Can’t you respect me?” 

“Respect?” James blinked as he turned to look at Francis. “You want respect from me? Well, earn it!” James snapped. “We’re best friends! Best friends tell each other everything!” Francis rolled his eyes. “Oh...Are you determined to be the worst kind of best friend as well?” 

Francis stared at him, his piercing gaze darkening. He glanced around the room as if searching for someone there. 

The fiery-haired boy suddenly lunged at James, shoving him as hard as he could. 

James stumbled backwards, tripping over his own boots. 

He fell through the doorway. 

The boy expected to hit the floor but instead, he kept falling.

Francis watched, horrified, as the floor swallowed James; the tall boy tumbling down a ladder and crashing against a heavy wooden crate. A golden helmet with red feathers crashed from the shelf beside him, landing on the floor with a bone-rattling thud and rolling across the slanted wooden floor. 

“J-James…” the fiery-haired boy gasped. He reached the for the door. “James!” 

The door suddenly slid shut, just inches from Francis’s face. 

“James!” Francis yelled as he gripped the door, struggling to pull it open. It wouldn’t budge. “James!” He hit the door till his fist felt bruised. The boy staggered back, his cheeks wet with tears. 

The boy in a captain’s uniform crumpled to his knees. 

Slowly, sobbing as he went, the boy crawled under the great table in the middle of the room, curling up against one of the carved legs. The epaulettes on his shoulders trembled with every sob. 

In the darkness below, James blinked as he stared up at the closed door. 

The realization of what Francis had done was slow to wash over him but once it had a hold of him it was as though a riptide had gripped him, dragging him out to the dark, merciless sea. Like a little boy, James began to sob uncontrollably. He wrapped his arms around his legs, the golden buttons on his white vest pressing into his thighs. He gasped violently for air between sobs as though being strangled by his own white sweater. 

“God… I have not had a very… oh what was the word you taught me? C-Cool? Yes, I have not had a very cool time this afternoon,” a familiar voice said. James looked up, his glistening eyes watching Captain James Fitzjames as he stumbled from the dark shadows, running his hands over his white vest. 

The boy scrambled to his feet only to run to the Captain, throwing his arms around him. Captain Fitzjames stumbled backwards, struggling to catch their fall. 

The two boys fell to the floor, the older, very much still a boy deep down and just as lost, holding onto the younger who pressed his face against his vest as he sobbed. 

“James… James, it is alright,” Captain Fitzjames tried to reassure him, gently rubbing his back. 

“No, no it’s not!” the boy cried. “I want to go home!” Captain Fitzjames sighed as the boy pulled himself from his embrace. “Francis! He killed you!” James yelled at the tired Captain. “He killed you! Why didn’t you tell me? I even asked you!” 

“James…” 

“Did Harry know?” 

“Yes, I’m sure Dr Goodsir told him,” Captain Fitzjames said quietly. 

“Why aren’t you angry?” 

“I asked him to do it,” Captain Fitzjames said calmly, his eyes on his hands which he had folded in his lap as he leaned against the red trunk behind him. The boy stared at him with eyes like deep, dark swimming pools. 

“You what?” 

“I was already dying. In fact, we are in the very memory when I realized what was happening to me,” Captain Fitzjames said, looking around the dimly lit room and the odd costumes hanging from hooks on the walls and spilling out of the red trunk. “By the end, I was in a lot of pain. So I asked Francis to help me out of it,” Captain Fitzjames sighed. “Because I loved him. I trusted him. And I didn’t want him to see it get worse. I didn’t want to see it get worse.” 

“Captain…” 

“It is alright you are upset. You did not know the whole story. I don’t think your Francis knows it either,” Captain Fitzjames said, a reassuring smile on his face. “I am not hurt by his actions. I am comforted by them. I was not alone at the end. I was with someone who loved me for who I really was and that matters more to me than anything else. I hope you can understand that.” 

James looked down at his boots, suddenly regretting every word that had escaped his mouth. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. 

Captain Fitzjames sighed. He reached into the trunk and pulled out a scarlet robe. 

“Come here,” Captain Fitzjames said as he wrapped the robe around his shoulders. The boy sat down on his lap, letting Captain Fitzjames wrap his arms around him in a warm hug, the two swaddled by the scarlet robe. The boy leaned his head against the Captain’s chest. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I’m not angry. I understand you are upset. I would be too if I was told the same thing you were. But it was a half-truth meant to upset you. Mr Hickey realized that he does not have to kill you if you two kill each other which you almost did,” Captain Fitzjames said, resting his chin on top of the boy’s head. James closed his eyes tightly. 

“Captain Fitzjames?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Were you scared? When you died?” 

“A little. I was tired and everything hurt. A part of me couldn’t believe it was really happening; why me? I was so young and strong. I felt cheated. I was scared. But Francis…” the Captain trailed off. 

“Did you love him?” 

“I do love him, yes.” 

James stared at one of the buttons on Captain Fitzjames’s vest, watching it glint in the dim lantern light. 

“I wish I was more like you,” James whispered. “I’m not brave. I’m scared of everything. I can’t even tell him… I can’t even say it out loud to you.” 

“James,” the Captain smiled. “I do not want you to be like me. God, I wish more than anything in the world that you will never be like me. Or at least not completely. You grew up never knowing the horror of war or of having to hide who you really were. You never had that responsibility and I never want you to. You get to play on the beach instead of learning how to sail from it. You get to have birthday cake and watch…” Captain Fitzjames frowned. “What do you call them?” 

“Movies?” 

“Yes! You get those! God, I’m just so happy you have a bicycle to ride everywhere instead of walking,” Captain Fitzjames laughed. “I wish I was more like you.” James shook his head. “What you choose to do, I want you to choose it because it is something you want, not something I want. You might be influenced by me, some things can’t be helped, you have my memories just like I have a perspective of yours. However, my life was very different from yours. You do not have to relive it.” 

The boy stared up at him with wide eyes. Tears oozed down his cheeks. 

“You could say we are the same… however I like to think of you as my little brother,” Captain Fitzjames said with a smile. 

“And you are like my older brother?” 

“Yes.” 

“I would like that very much,” James managed to say, his voice breaking. Captain Fitzjames smiled. 

“Now… I understand that you are upset with Francis,” Captain Fitzjames said, turning his head so he could look down at the boy. 

“I-I don’t know if I’m upset anymore… I don’t know,” James sighed, pressing his hands against his face. 

“Why don’t we figure it out together?” Captain Fitzjames said as he reached into his vest, pulling out the boy’s dowsing rods that he had made for him. James stared at him, confused. Resting his chin back on the boy’s head, he held the rods out in front of him. “Right means yes, left means no and centre means you are unsure. Understand?” 

“Y-Yes.” 

“Good. 

“Do you love him?” Captain Fitzjames asked. James stared at the two makeshift dowsing rods. Slowly, he stretched his fingers towards one of the metal rods. 

As he touched it, the dim room with its strange costumes melted away.

The boy stood on the white ice, snow falling softly around him and landing on his golden shoulders. Lowering his gaze from the white sky, he stared at the fiery-haired boy standing in front of him, unaware of the dark eyes watching him. 

James blinked and the heavy wool coat and golden epaulettes became a blue and yellow puffy coat with matching snow pants. He watched as the fiery-haired boy turned to look at him, laughing as a snowball flew at him and burst against his shoulder. James couldn’t help but laugh. 

A snowball flew at him, forcing him to close his eyes. 

When he opened them, he found himself in his bed. His arm dangled off the side of the mattress. His fingers brushed against a red curl. James stared over the edge of the bed at the boy asleep on the floor among a nest of blankets and pillows stolen from various rooms in the house. The morning sunlight kissed his cheeks. As his eyes started to flutter open, James quickly rolled onto his back, finding himself staring up at the low ceiling of his cabin on the _HMS Erebus_ , his hands pressed over the scratchy blanket on his chest. 

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to get up. 

Standing up, he found himself in the middle of the school gymnasium decorated for the winter dance. He felt breathless as he watched Francis who laughed, not at him but with him, the music flowing around them. 

He reached his hand towards James. 

He saw that very hand surrounded by ice, reaching back towards him to help pull him up. 

He saw that hand out of the corner of his eye on his shoulder as he pedalled his bicycle down the winding seaside roads, the warm weight on his shoulders reminding him not to go too fast. 

He saw that hand holding his, resting against the pillow between them as Francis slowly fell asleep to the faint music playing in the headphones James had given him. He gripped the older boy’s hand tighter and let himself close his eyes, finally feeling warm. 

James opened his eyes, finding himself staring at the dowsing rods in Captain Fitzjames’s hands and the one that he picked. 

“That answers it then, doesn’t it?” Captain Fitzjames smiled. 

A sudden thud on the floorboards above them made the two jump. 

“Francis is up there,” the boy breathed as he looked up at the wooden ceiling. 

“That is not Francis,” Captain Fitzjames said quietly. He tucked the rods back inside his vest before quickly throwing off the warm scarlet robe. “We need to get you out of here,” Captain Fitzjames said. The boy scrambled to his feet, looking nervously up at the ceiling as boots thudded across the wood. Captain Fitzjames got up, reaching for the lantern. “This way,” he whispered. He led the way further into the dark, the lantern driving the dark shadows away. James reached for his hand, holding on to him tightly. 

They reached another ladder, Captain Fitzjames holding the lantern up so the boy could climb up. He blinked, confused to find himself on the deck of the frozen ship when he knew they had been deep below. He pulled the collar of his long, heavy navy blue coat close as he looked down to watch Captain Fitzjames climb up. 

“Moving from memory to memory means less climbing,” Captain Fitzjames said with a smile, adjusting the strap of the rifle that now hung from his shoulder. The golden ribbon around his hat, just like the boy’s, shown like a halo in the white, snowy light. 

“Whose memory is this?” James asked. 

“‘Mine,” Captain Fitzjames said as he started towards the snow ramp that led down to the ice from the ship. James hurried after him. 

“What happened?” James asked. Captain Fitzjames paused halfway down the ramp. He looked up at James, snowflakes fluttering around him. 

“It's the day we lost Sir John,” Captain Fitzjames finally said. James frowned. 

“Lost?” 

“Come on,” Captain Fitzjames held his hand out to him. The boy hurried down the icy ramp, slipping near the bottom. The Captain caught him, gripping his hand tightly as he pulled him back up. Holding his hand tightly, the two ran across the snow, their heavy coats swirling around them. 

As they reached the bow of the ship, a figure stepped in the white sunlight. The icy light shone through the holes in his stolen coat. Blood dripped onto his stolen boots. 

Captain Fitzjames stopped. He gripped his gun tightly with one hand, the other reaching for the boy. 

“Mr Fitzjames,” the man with the bloody smile said as he walked towards them. Snowflakes fluttered around them, sticking to their coats. “What took you so long?” 

“Haven’t you done enough?” Captain Fitzjames said sharply. “Haven’t you hurt them enough?” 

“Oh… I’ve had enough,” Mr Hickey said, his smile widening as he placed his hands on his stomach. “But my friends are hungry too.” James glanced around, noticing the dark shadows among the snow. His grip on Captain Fitzjames’s hand tightened. His heart pounded in his chest; a dove beating its wings against the bars of its cage. 

“You will not harm him,” Captain Fitzjames hissed, moving in front of the boy as he shot a dark glare at the men surrounding him. “That’s an order.” The man with the bloody smile laughed. 

“What kind of power is going to enforce that order, Mr Fitzjames?” Mr Hickey asked. “Are you going to enforce it?” Captain Fitzjames gripped his gun tighter, his dark gaze flickering between Mr Hickey and the other men. “You know, it confuses me that you are so attached to this child. It’s just a fragment of you. A stolen chunk of your soul.” 

James looked up at Captain Fitzjames with wide eyes. 

“No… They are alive, Mr Hickey. Our chance to live again through them. More than that… they have their own lives, they aren’t just our fragments. Can’t you see that?” Captain Fitzjames asked. The gold ribbon around his hat glittered. “When you killed your own fragment all those years ago… you weren’t just killing yourself. You murdered a child.” Mr Hickey rolled his eyes. 

“Give us the boy, Mr Fitzjames. You are just going to fragment again anyways, just like last time! You remember, don't cha Mr Fitzjames? God, how that boy screamed! That’s what he got for snooping around where he didn’t belong. Just like this one,” Mr Hickey laughed. Captain Fitzjames narrowed his eyes darkly. “I’ll make it quick this time,” the ghoul said with a reassuring smile. “If you don’t… well I can’t make any promises that you or these children as you call them, won’t suffer. We’re hungry and we are tired and we are a little bit bored, Mr Fitzjames. Can’t you see that?” 

Captain Fitzjames looked down at the boy behind him, holding onto his hand as tight as he could. 

“C-Captain Fitzjames…” the boy stammered. “Please.” 

“These stupid kids are going to ruin everything!” Mr Hickey suddenly yelled at him. “If they destroy that spyglass you might never see Crozier again! Is that what you want? Who knows where we will end up! Who is to say that we will even go home if they destroy it?” Captain Fitzjames stared down at the boy, identical to him in almost every way save for the youthful glow on his face. He clung to Captain Fitzjames’s hand. Mr Hickey watched the Captain closely, his red smile widening as Captain Fitzjames’s hand shifted on his gun. “You have given up so much for this boy and now he wants to destroy the very thing that keeps you here! That keeps you and Mr Crozier together! That keeps all of us together! Do you really want that?” 

“Captain Fitzjames…” James pleaded. 

“Find a way out,” Captain Fitzjames whispered. The tall boy stared at him with wide, terrified eyes. 

In one swift motion, Captain Fitzjames let go of the boy’s hand and raised his gun. 

The gunshot crackled through the frozen air. 

Suddenly, James was running. 

He ran across the snow towards the rising ice, his heavy coat billowing around him. He looked back over his shoulder in time to watch Mr Hickey fall against the ice, dark blood splattered around him. One of the men lunged at Captain Fitzjames who blocked the blow with his gun only to be hit by another, throwing him to the snow. 

The boy kept running, disappearing among the ice. 

“Get after the boy!” Mr Hickey yelled at the others as he got up. “Get him!” 

James scrambled through a narrow passage in the ice, snow sticking to his coat. He squeezed through to the other side and kept running, his heavy boots slamming against the snow. He looked back over his shoulder, seeing no one behind him, only falling snow and ice. 

He didn’t stop. 

“You won’t get him…” Captain Fitzjames gasped as he managed to push himself up onto his knees. He spat dark blood onto the snow. Mr Hickey looked down at him, his brow furrowing. “Not this time. These stupid kids,” Captain Fitzjames smiled. “Are far braver than you ever were.” Mr Hickey blinked as he looked back out at the ice. After a moment, he started towards the ice. Captain Fitzjames got to his feet, his hand reaching for his fallen gun. 

The boy kept running, finding himself in a strange opening. A collapsed tent lay in ruin against a wall of ice. Blood splattered across the snow. Bodies lay at unnatural angles. James tried not to look at them as he reached for a gun, startled by how heavy it was. He gripped it tightly as he looked around the opening. The cold wind tugged at his coat. 

Hearing footsteps in the snow, James ducked into a narrow gap in the ice, pressing himself against the frozen wall. He took a deep, heaving breath, tears welling up in his eyes. He glanced around the ice, searching for Captain Fitzjames but he was nowhere to be seen. One of the ghouls stood by the crumpled, bloody tent. He looked up, spotting the boy before he could duck back around the ice. 

James panicked, scrambling further down the gap. He dropped to his hands and knees, crawling through the impossibly small gap only a teenaged boy could fit through. He nearly got stuck, his heavy coat bunching up around him. Struggling to push himself through the gap, the memory of the time he had gotten stuck under his brother’s bed flashed through his mind. How William had laughed as the little boy cried. 

“Stop crying. I got you!” William laughed as he reached under the bed for James’s hand, pulling him out. 

Now, the eighteen-year-old boy clawed at the ice, his eyes locked on the white light streaming through the gap. With one more push against the ice, he fell onto the snow on the other side. He scrambled up and grabbed his gun before turning to run. 

Arms suddenly wrapped around his waist, swinging him up off his feet. 

James screamed, kicking and hitting at the ghoul. 

“Little boy picks up a gun and thinks he’s a captain!” the man laughed, squeezing the boy painfully as he carried him towards the others. 

“Put me down!” James screamed, kicking at the man. 

“Des Voeux, you just picked up the Commander!” one of the other men laughed. “Give him here!” Before James could get away, he was being thrown like a doll from one man to the other, all of them laughing as they swung the boy around. James screamed, hitting at them. His heel slammed into the knee of the man holding him, forcing him to drop the boy to the snow. The boy gasped in pain as he hit the ice, his hat slipping from his head. 

“You brat,” the man hissed. 

James slowly raised his head. 

His dark gaze landed on a hole in the ice just beyond the group of ghouls that surrounded him. 

“Throw him in! Just like Sir John!” Hands were suddenly grabbing his arms and legs, hauling the boy off the snow. James screamed, fighting against them as they carried him towards the hole in the ice. 

“Captain Fitzjames!” James screamed. “C-Captain!” 

A second crackling gunshot ran through the air, the ghouls to dropping the boy. 

Captain Fitzjames let out a scream of anger as he ran at them. One of the men suddenly grabbed James, dragging him the last few feet to the hole in the ice. James clawed at the snow as he tried to rip his arm from the man’s strong grasp. He fell forward into the shockingly cold snow, his boots dangling over the edge. The man hauled him back up. James screamed as he nearly slipped back into the hole.

“I’ll drop him! I swear!” the man yelled at Captain Fitzjames. 

“Please…” Captain Fitzjames pleaded, cautiously holding his hand out. The gold ribbon around his hat glinted like a halo. The ghoul only tightened his grip on the boy. 

A loud gunshot echoed through the air, the ghoul suddenly falling to the ice. 

James had no time to look around for who had shot at the man for he was suddenly falling, his boots slipping on the ice. Captain Fitzjames lunged for him, slamming onto the snow as he grabbed the boy’s hand.

“C-Captain Fitzjames!” the boy wailed, his feet kicking against the bloody ice. He looked down at the darkness below him. “Captain…” He looked back up at Captain Fitzjames, watching him glance nervously over his shoulder. 

“You are going to be upset with me...I’m going to let go of your hand,” Captain Fitzjames said. 

“No! No, please!” James screamed. “No! Get me out of here!” 

“I am! It will be alright, I promise. Do you trust me?” 

“Captain Fitzjames, I’m scared!” 

“Do you trust me?” Captain Fitzjames repeated, more firmly this time. The boy nodded. He could hear running footsteps coming towards them. Captain Fitzjames gave him a reassuring smile. 

He let go of the boy’s hand.

The boy screamed as he fell into the frigid darkness. His hands grabbed at the ice but there was no stopping his fall. In a flurry of navy blue wool and gold buttons, he slid further and further down. 

Just when he thought he would fall forever, the icy tunnel suddenly turned. 

Ice became the blue plastic of the playground slide near James’s house, the very one that he had played at for as long as he could remember. 

A screaming laugh burst from James as he slid around the corner of the slide. He gasped for air, laughing as he slid around another bend. 

The slide spat him out, the boy screaming and laughing as he fell. He landed in a pile of pillows and blankets in the middle of an old basement, the television alive with static. Gold balloons filled the room and pizza boxes dotted the old table in the corner of the room. A plastic crown sat on top of the television, just where Henry had left it. 

James heaved for air, unable to move from the pillows. 

“James! James!” Francis was suddenly hovering over him, his polka-dotted cape made out of a blanket falling over him. “James, are you okay?” He reached for James, holding onto his shoulders tightly. James managed to nod, feeling out of breath and nauseous all at once. He suddenly let out a gasping laugh as he laid his head back on the pillows. “W-What happened?” Francis stammered. 

“I hate Captain James Fitzjames,” the boy laughed. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” James smiled. Francis’s hands drifted to his cheeks, gently wiping the tears from James’s flushed skin. The tall boy stared up at him, his glittering eyes searching Francis’s face. Realizing his hands were cupping James’s face, Francis quickly moved them away, his awkward gaze dropping to the floor. 

“Are you okay to get up?” Francis asked quickly. 

“I think so.” 

Francis held his hand out to James. 

The tall boy stared at his hand for a moment before taking it, letting Francis pull him up. James glanced around the room, a small smile pulling at his face. He walked over to the table, his red blanket cape fluttering around him. He picked up his shield that now hung on the wall. “Dundy’s birthday,” James whispered. He looked up at Francis who was staring at him. “How did you find me?” 

“I uh… well I didn’t. Captain Crozier did.” 

“Captain Crozier?” James raised an eyebrow. 

Francis nodded. 

He remembered hiding under that table, his forehead pressed against his knees as he sobbed. 

The sound of boots on the hard floor had made him flinch, the fiery-haired boy slowly looking up. He watched boots get closer to the table. Slowly, they stopped. 

“Now really,” a gentle voice said. The Captain knelt down, peering under the table at the boy. “Is hiding under the table really the place for a captain?” 

The boy stared at him with wide, teary eyes. After a moment, he shook his head. 

“Come on then,” Captain Crozier said, holding his hand out to the boy. “Out you come.” Francis hesitated before taking his hand and crawled awkwardly out from under the table. “Now,” Captain Crozier said as he brushed the dirt off the boy’s uniform and adjusted his epaulettes. “I believe we need to talk.” 

“W-What about James?” Francis stammered. 

“No need to worry,” Captain Crozier said gently. He reached for the boy’s arm and the two began to walk from the room, the boy looking nervously at the door that had just slammed on him. Stepping through the doorway, they found themselves standing on the deck of the _Terror,_ their collars pulled up against the cold. A deep blue glow washed over them. Captain Crozier leaned at the railing, looking out over the ice. “I feel as though I should apologize. I never meant for those dreams to hurt you in this way. I only wanted you to understand so that you might help us stop Hickey. The last time…” Captain Crozier trailed off with a sigh. 

“Last time?” Francis frowned as he leaned against the railing beside the tired Captain. 

“The James and Francis before you found out about all of this. They knew about Hickey and they knew his game. Only, it all went wrong. Hickey killed James, strangled him and left him to be found by deer hunters in the woods. Captain Fitzjames…” Captain Crozier sighed. “He was so distraught. He tried so hard to protect him. And Francis, he couldn’t bear what had happened. He knew that James would come back but he didn’t know when. He also knew that alone, he had no chance against Hickey,” the Captain took a deep, shaky breath. “So he jumped from the pier. He wanted the next fragments to finally finish this. He made me promise I would see it happen. So I gave you your dreams. I never meant for them to cause you so much pain. I’m sorry, Francis.”

“Everything you showed me happened?” 

“They are my memories.” 

“I’m sorry, Captain Crozier.” 

“There is no changing what happened. We can only make it right, hmm?” 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Francis asked. 

“I thought distance would be safer. I was wrong. I should have done what Captain Fitzjames did, hovering over you like a hawk everywhere you went,” Captain Crozier laughed. 

“C-Captain Fitzjames has always followed him?” 

“Aye, he has,” Captain Crozier lifted a brow. “You sound like you have a… what do you call them? A crush?” The boy’s cheeks burned as he looked away from him. 

“I do not.” 

“Captain Fitzjames is flattered, I’m sure. But-” 

“Shut up.” 

“James however…” Captain Crozier reached into his coat pocket for his pipe. “Well.” Francis looked down at his gloved hands. “I brought you to this land of memory but I couldn’t keep you safe so Captain Fitzjames took up the duty. And you love him for that. He is still trying to protect you. We got into several arguments over telling you about this. I wanted you to know the truth so you might put a stop to all this. Captain Fitzjames did not want to tell you because that would make you a target. It's what happened the last time. That is why Captain Fitzjames tried to stop his boy from telling you." Captain Crozier smiled. "He should have known better. All a Fitzjames does is talk." The boy smiled, looking down at the snow-covered railing of the ship. "Your James is a talker, is he not?"

"My James?" Francis frowned.

"Yes, your James. The boy with the great blue bicycle; he’s always just been next door. He’s kept you just as safe too. He got you out of the house, introduced you to your friends; showed you the world beyond books. He even saved your life just last week. The boy has always been there.” Francis blinked as he stared out at the ice and the brewing storm in the distance. 

“Captain Crozier?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Is it true? That you killed him? Captain Fitzjames, I mean.” 

“That’s a strong word,” Captain Crozier sighed. “As much as it pains me, it was an act of love.” 

“Oh.”

“You shoving James down a ladder, that was no act of love,” Captain Crozier said, forcing a smile onto his face. Francis pressed his hands over his face. 

“He’s gonna hate me.” 

“No… But an apology would not hurt,” Captain Crozier laughed. “I punched him once.” 

“What?” 

“I did! And he threw me into a wall. We both deserved it, me more than him.” The two smiled. 

A sudden gunshot rang out over the ice. 

Captain Crozier’s smile fell. 

“What was that?” Francis breathed. 

“James…” Captain Crozier started running down the deck, his heavy coat billowing around him. Francis hurried after him, unsteady on the icy deck. They reached the hatch, the Captain quickly pushing it open. “This way.” 

“But the shot was out there!” 

“This way,” Captain Crozier ordered. Francis glanced hesitantly at the ice before climbing down the ladder, landing in the dimly lit hallway. He waited for the Captain to climb down before following him through the darkness. A scream echoed through the dark. 

“James!” 

“We’re almost there,” Captain Crozier reached the door at the end of the hall, throwing it open. Francis’s wide-eyed gaze landed on James who lay on the floor, gasping for air. 

Now, staring at James, Francis found it was he who was gasping for air. 

“We should keep moving… Hickey… he’s got his friends after us now,” James said, fidgeting with his shield. 

“Right…” Francis breathed. He watched James move away from the table and start towards the door. “James.” The tall boy stopped, looking back at him with a furrowed brow. Francis started towards him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you. I shouldn’t have-” 

“It’s alright,” James said gently. “I’m sorry too.” 

The two teenagers stared at each other. 

Neither were quite sure who reached for the other first but suddenly Francis’s hands were on either side of James’s face, the tall boy stumbling backwards and falling against the wall. 

James’s eyes widened as Francis kissed him, the shield falling from his hand with a loud clatter. 

After a moment, Francis broke away. His eyes flickered over James’s shocked face. 

“H-Have you never-” 

“I have,” James lied. 

“It’s okay,” Francis said softly, his thumbs gently rubbing small circles on James’s pink cheeks. “Can… Can I kiss you again?” 

“W-What about Sophia?” 

“She rejected me… Twice,” Francis laughed. 

“Oh…” a small, gasping laugh escaped James’s throat. Francis smiled, threading his hair through James’s hair. He mused away the waves he had tried to copy from Captain Fitzjames, leaving him with his usual messy curls. 

“Can I kiss you again?” Francis breathed. James nodded. He reached for Francis, his arms draping over his shoulders and circling around his neck as he pulled him closer. 

The kiss left James breathless; he had waited so long. 

Francis slowly broke away. James leaned his head against the shorter boy’s forehead. He ran his hands over Francis’s blanket draped shoulders, tracing the polka dots. 

"You were always right here..." Francis breathed. 

"Didn't you notice?" James smiled. 

This time, it was James who kissed him, pulling him as close as he could. They broke away gasping for air. 

“Let’s go?” Francis breathed. James nodded again. 

Francis held his hand out to him. 

James took it, letting him lead him towards the door. The older boy pushed it open, wincing at the cold wind that grabbed at them. 

The two boys stepped out onto the rocks, squinting to see through the thick fog that surrounded them. Beige tents rose up from the rocks, their canvas sides billowing in the wind. Their heavy, navy blue coats swirled around them. 

James gripped Francis’s hand, their blue gloves making a pair. James wondered when Francis had taken his glove. The thought calmed him as he glanced around the foggy, abandoned camp. 

The two boys reached the edge of the camp. 

A strange wooden structure rose from the rocks, a rope hanging from the top beam. 

“Is that…” James breathed. 

“A gallows,” Francis stammered. 

“Why?” James wondered as Francis slowly started towards it. He gripped James’s hand tightly as they crossed the open rocks. “Do you ever see it? In your dreams?” 

“Maybe… they all blur together,” Francis whispered. James looked nervously over his shoulder. 

“I don’t like this,” James breathed as they reached the strange gallows. Francis pressed his free hand against one of the beams. “We should get out of here.” 

“And go where?” a sneering voice called out to them from the fog. James’s eyes widened as he backed up towards Francis. “There is nowhere to run!” The fiery-haired boy spun around, looking wildly for the man with the bloody smile but the fog was too thick. “Don’t you recognize this, Mr Crozier? You would have killed me that day had I not been saved. You were a liar, Mr Crozier! A liar!” 

“Francis…” James gasped. The fiery-haired boy stared at him with wide eyes. 

“No… This time. Oh, this time!” Mr Hickey smiled. “Now it’ll be you who will swing.” 

Guided by invisible hands, the rope suddenly looped around Francis’s throat. He let out a choked scream as it suddenly pulled him up, off his feet. 

“Francis!” James screamed, grabbing at him. He wrapped his arms around his waist, trying desperately to take some of the weight off the rope. “Francis!” James wailed.

"I have something special for you, Mr Fitzjames!" Mr Hickey taunted. "I told your precious Captain Fitzjames! I can't make any promises that you won't suffer! You are not getting that spyglass!" 

Francis gasped frantically, clawing at the rope around his neck. He flailed, his kicking boots nearly knocking the air from James’s chest. 

“Do not panic,” Captain Fitzjames said suddenly from behind James. He held a boat knife out to the crying boy. “Come on!” James quickly reached for it. “On three.” Captain Fitzjames said as he wrapped his arms around the boy’s waist. “One, two, three-” He grunted as he lifted the tall boy off the ground, nearly putting him on his shoulders. James grabbed at the rope, cutting at it frantically with the knife. Francis gasped, tears of pain streaming down his cheeks. 

The rope snapped. 

Captain Fitzjames set the boy down in time for him to catch Francis, the boy collapsing to the rocks, the rope spiralling around him. James dropped to his knees, throwing his arms around Francis tightly. 

“G-Go..” Francis gasped. “We need to..” James nodded. He pulled the older boy to his feet, holding on to him tightly as they started running back towards the tents. Captain Fitzjames stared into the fog for a moment longer, his upper lip twitching with anger before he turned, running after the two teenagers. 

They stumbled past the tents, nearly tripping on the rocks. James wrapped his arm around Francis’s waist. His other hand gripped the knife as tightly as he could. 

“James!” Francis suddenly gasped as a figure emerged from the fog, lunging towards them. Francis stumbled back as the tall boy swung his knife at the ghoul. He missed but he landed a strong kick on his stomach, sending him falling to the rocks. Before he could get up, the teenager kicked him again as hard as he could; like kicking a football across the field. 

James reached for Francis’s hand. 

The fiery-haired boy took it, glancing hesitantly down at the groaning ghoul as they ran past. Another figure emerged from the fog ahead of them. 

“Captain Fitzjames can’t keep saving you forever!” the ghoul yelled. “He can’t get you out of here. He can’t truly save you.” He smiled. “He’s a fake.” James gritted his teeth as he suddenly threw the knife at the ghoul who dodged out of the way. 

Francis turned, suddenly tugging James into one of the tents.

The fluttering of the canvas and the thud of their boots suddenly hitting pavement echoed through the night air. 

James looked up, a scream suddenly building in his throat. 

All six teenagers screamed at each other. 

James braced for Thomas to swing the board in his hands at them. 

“S-Stop it! Stop it!” Francis managed to gasp. “T-Thomas put that down…” he trailed off as his knees gave out, the fiery-haired boy collapsing to the pavement.

“Francis!” James cried, struggling to catch him. Francis braced his hands against the pavement as he coughed and gasped for air. James held on to him tightly, fearful of when he would have to let go. 

“I’m okay…” Francis gasped, taking a deep, heaving breath. 

“What happened to you?” Thomas asked. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” James asked, wiping away the tears on his face. 

“Um… well…” Thomas brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. “We uh…” 

“Sorry" James sighed, regretting the jolt of anger that had shot through him. He looked up at the four, out of breath teenagers, each dressed in the clothes they had worn the night Harry disappeared. "You’re okay?” 

Silna managed to nod. She reached for Francis, holding his hand tightly as he tried to take another deep breath. 

“Are you okay?” Collins asked. James looked up at him for a moment before turning to Francis. The older boy nodded. 

“Fine,” he coughed. James pressed his face into Francis’s shoulder as if he could bury himself in the orange knit of his sweater. His arms tightened around him. Francis placed his hand gently on the back of James’s head, his fingers gently musing through his hair. “I’m fine..” he whispered gently. James nodded against his shoulder, wishing he could kiss him again. James forced himself to raise his head from Francis’s shoulder and reached for his hands, gently helping him to his feet. 

Francis’s entwined his fingers with James’s. He gently rubbed his thumb against his pale skin. 

“What now? We still haven’t found that stupid fucking spyglass,” Collins muttered. 

“What about John’s house? Maybe we could get there from here?” James wondered, suddenly feeling more exhausted than he ever had in his life.

Edward pressed his hands over his face, an uncontrollable sob shaking through him. 

“Edward?” Francis frowned. He let go of James’s hand and reached for the crying boy. “Edward? What is it?” 

“Something… Something happened,” Thomas stammered. “We think something bad happened to John.” 

“What? When?” James’s eyes widened in horror. “How do you know?” 

“We were in this weird tent and we saw-”

A scream echoed through the cool night air. 

The teenagers froze, staring nervously at each other. 

The scream came again. 

Francis’s look of terror slowly changed into one of confusion. “Who is that?” 

“Tozer!” the panicked scream echoed down the dark street. “Tozer, help!”

“Tozer?” Collins repeated. James glanced at Francis. 

Another scream echoed through the night air. 

The tall boy suddenly broke into a run down the road, his shadow drifting across the pools of orange light. He followed the screams, running up the driveway to an old white house. He reached the front door as it suddenly swung open. Tozer slammed into James, the two boys falling heavily to the old, splinter ridden porch. 

Tozer suddenly grabbed onto James, rolling to pin him to the floor. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tozer yelled as James slapped at him. 

“The hell are you doing here?” James snapped back, managing to hit the boy hard enough to throw him off. James grabbed Tozer’s t-shirt, gripping it tightly as he managed to get to his knees. The two boys rolled across the porch, spitting and yelling like the street cats behind the corner store. Francis reached the porch, out of breath as he clung to the railing. He stared down at the two wrestling boys, unsure if he should stop them or not. James managed to shove Tozer down onto the porch, pinning him down with a knee on his chest. There was a new rip in his jeans. “Did Hickey send you?” James yelled. 

“What? No!” Tozer cried. “We saved you!” James frowned. Tozer’s gaze suddenly focused on something behind him. “Pilk! Don’t!” James turned in time to see the younger boy staring at James, frozen mid-swing, the brass object in his hands glinting in the orange street light. 

James’s eyes widened. 

In his hands was Lieutenant John Irving’s spyglass. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun with this chapter lol I wrote it in a day! There will probably be a little break between now and the next update but I will be posting some spooky little shorts on my tumblr next week!  
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thank you for your love <3 
> 
> Also, check my playlist for this fic here: open.spotify.com/playlist/1wnaQEe25BY56tiKJIYLE0?si=m2SzngAMQWObkeX0arunxQ  
> One song on there, Jarre by Moderns, is kinda the reason that the scene where James runs through the ice exists lol I listened to it on repeat while writing it!


	9. the cursed object

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this update took forever! This chapter is pretty long so get a snack or something if you need to!!

Red skateboard wheels rumbled down the sidewalk. 

The sixteen-year-old boy occasionally placed his foot down, propelling himself further down the road with a strong push, the laces of his clunky red and white skateboard shoes fluttering around his ankle. His dark curls danced in the salty wind, his unzipped red hoodie fluttering around him. His black jeans had rips on the knees, a result of one too many falls from his board. 

He glanced back over his shoulder at the older boy who followed after him on his scooter, the silver metal glinting in the warm sunlight. His deep blue running shoes were laced up tightly. He wore an old baggy grey sweatshirt over a loose button-up, the hem of his shirt escaping his sweatshirt. He had rolled up his jeans, the hems dotted with doodles drawn with a permanent marker. 

The younger boy smiled back at him. Another push sent him flying down the sidewalk. He jumped, the board flipping under his shoes before slamming back down onto the cement. 

They passed by the library, the doctor’s clinic and the old church. 

They continued through town, passing a quiet road on which a tall boy walked towards home, arguing with his ghost. 

The two boys flew down the winding road. 

The town faded into the rolling woods, only the occasional house creating gaps in the thick forest. The smell of the ocean was heavy on the wind, the tide having gone out a few hours ago. The leaves overhead rustled in the salty breeze. 

“You know this forest is haunted, eh?” the younger boy called out as he coasted down the road on the skateboard, the lobster-red wheels glinting in the sunlight. 

“What? No, it’s not!” 

“Yeah, it is! I heard it’s haunted by the ghost of a boy who was murdered here like twenty years ago,” the younger boy said, glancing hesitantly at the dark woods. “Apparently if you come here at midnight you can still hear him screaming!” 

“Ugh, stop it, Pilk. That’s creepy,” the older boy shivered, his hands gripping the handles of his scooter tightly. 

“Are you scared, Tommy?” 

“What? No. Are you?” 

“It’s just a story,” the younger boy said with a shrug; there were far more terrifying things in the world than the ghost of a crying boy. 

The two boys continued down the old, winding road. Neither of them thought much about the road; it had always been here. 

It would be here forever. 

The salty wind tugged at them as they flew down the old road. It didn’t take them long to reach a path that snaked down through the trees. Pilkington picked up his skateboard and started down the path, his red sneakers kicking up pebbles and sending them flying down the hill. The older boy behind him awkwardly carried his scooter as they made their way down the steep hill, past an old dugout, now rotting and covered with spray paint. They reached the bottom of the hill, stepping out onto the open meadow dotted with the old ruins of the Redoubt. 

Among the crumbling, spray-painted ruins of the old military fort, a group of boys sat on the dry grass, their skateboards resting beside them. Their laughter drifted towards the younger boys on the salty wind. The waves crashed against the rocks and stones that had once made up the fort that lined the shore. 

As they walked towards the ruin, the youngest boy couldn’t help but stop as he turned to look at one of the dark entrances to a crumbling, wet bunker. 

Someone was standing in the darkness, just beyond the point where light could no longer reach, the boy was certain of it. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out who it was. 

“Pilk!” 

The boy jumped. He burst into a run after Armitage. He only spared a fleeting looking over his shoulder at the dark entry into the bunker dug out of the hill. He ran past Armitage and reached the group of older boys sitting in the grass, falling beside them with a breathless laugh. 

“What have you been up to?” one of the boy's asked, ruffling the younger boy’s hair. He wore a red hoodie, the white strings hanging from the hood fluttering in the wind. His name was Hedges. 

“We went to the movies,” Pilkington said as Armitage sat down beside him.

“Anything good?” another boy named Bryant asked, fidgeting with one of his red shoelaces. 

“Not really. What have you been doing, Heather?” Pilkington asked the older boy beside him. 

“We were waiting around for Tozer but he ain’t coming,” Heather said as he glanced at the other boys dejectedly. One of them, a boy named Hammond, lay on the dry grass, his head resting on his skateboard. There was a rip in his red jeans across the knee, the loose strands looking almost bloody in the sunlight. 

“W-Why?” Pilkington frowned. 

“I don’t know. All he said was that something was up with Hickey,” Heather shrugged. 

“That asshole is practically an adult now too. He doesn’t need Tozer to babysit him,” the boy laying on the grass snapped. “He’s our friend too.” Pilkington pulled at the grass. 

Tozer might have had other friends, one of them in particular that made Pilkington nervous, but he always came back to them; back to the group of boys in red, back to the skateboard park, back to Pilkington who always smiled when he ruffled his hair and revved the engine of his old car, back to Armitage who could never quite get the hang of a skateboard but still kept up with them just the same. 

“He’ll come back,” Armitage said quietly. Heather nodded. A wave crashed against the rocks. One of the older boys pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and troubling thoughts of Tozer were put aside. Soon, their laughter was floating on the wind, the cards resting on the grass glinting in the warm sunlight. 

Once they became bored of cards, Pilkington and Armitage scrambled along the rocky shore, peering into tidal pools. 

“What is that?” Armitage called out. Pilkington looked up from the green, hermit crab-filled pool he had been peering into. He jumped over the pool, narrowly avoiding falling into another as he hurried over to the older boy. 

Among the sea weed was a yellow rainboot. 

“It's just some kid’s boot,” Pilkington said with a shrug. “He must have lost it.” 

“I guess,” Armitage said quietly. The wind picked up. Pilkington glanced over his shoulder. 

He could have sworn that he heard someone say his name. 

“Should we leave it?” Armitage asked, startling the younger boy. Pilkington frowned. “The boot, I mean.” 

“I don’t want it… Do you?” 

“No!” Armitage snorted. He turned away, jumping back over the rocks. Pilkington glanced down at the yellow rain boot. A wave crashed into the rocks, salty sea spray flying into the boy’s face. He laughed, nearly losing his balance as he turned and hurried after the older boy. 

They ran back to the older boys who had started a little campfire, the glowing orange light illuminating the old military fort, the stones left behind to serve only as the canvas for bored teenagers with heads full of dreams. Perhaps the old stone walls were put to better use this way. Pilkington thought so. 

Sitting on his skateboard, he watched the shadows flicker on the old stone walls, dancing in the firelight. The flames crackled and popped. The waves crashed onto the rocky shore, no doubt washing away that lonely yellow rainboot once more. The sun sank lower towards the horizon. Once it had finally disappeared beyond the waves, Armitage yawned and leaned his head against Pilkington’s shoulder. 

As the stars began to glimmer in the dark sky, the two young boys said goodnight to the older boys and began the walk through the dark ruins. 

Pilkington shot a nervous glance at the dark bunker as they walked past. The cool wind whistled among the stones.

By the light of Armitage’s flashlight, they climbed back up the hill. 

“Do you think we’ll hear him crying?” Armitage asked, looking nervously around the dark woods. Pilkington frowned. “The boy who was murdered all those years ago. You said that he’s still out here, crying.” 

“Oh… Maybe,” Pilkington said, trying to catch his breath. “I hope not.” They kept hiking up the hill, Pilkington carrying his skateboard on his shoulders, Armitage hauling his scooter. The back wheel scraped along the earth. With one last deep breath, Pilkington reached the top and hauled the older boy up with an outstretched hand. 

Soon, they were flying through the night down the winding road, through murky pools of orange light from the streetlamps and past the sprawling dark woods. The smell of the ocean filled the air, the cool breeze tugging at Pilkington’s red hoodie. The wheels of his skateboard rumbled over the old pavement. 

The boy glanced back over his shoulder. 

A figure stood in one of the pools of orange light.

The boy’s skateboard grinded to a halt as he struggled to turn around. He stumbled off the board, sending it flying down the road. 

“The fuck?” Armitage asked as he came to a staggering stop. He looked back over his shoulder at Pilkington and the empty road they had just sped down. “Are you alright?” 

“D-Do you see someone…” Pilkington gasped. 

“No?” 

“Shit,” Pilkington sighed, rubbing his hands on his jeans. 

“You’re tired, Pilk. Let’s get back to my place, alright?” Armitage asked gently. The younger boy nodded as he looked back at the spot where the figure had been standing. Pilkington took a deep breath. 

He was used to seeing things just out of the corner of his eye; he had always seen things.

As a little boy, he had an imaginary friend, or at least that’s what he thought it was; a young soldier in a red uniform who hid in his closet among the old, colourful blankets and toys. He wondered if the soldier had once been a toy himself, a nutcracker brought to life, his uniform so perfect and red. Sometimes, Pilkington would roll a ball towards him and smile when he rolled it back, the golden buttons on his uniform glinting in the sunlight. 

When he played with Armitage in his backyard, he often saw a man standing in the upstairs window, watching them. He didn’t seem scary to the little boy, perhaps a little lonely. One time Pilkington waved to him and he waved back. 

As he got older, he forgot about the kind soldier hiding in the closet and the lonely man standing in Armitage’s window. 

However, he still remembered the monster under his bed. 

Pilkington shuddered. 

He hurried to catch his board before it flew into the ditch. 

The rest of the way to Armitage’s house, Pilkington found himself looking nervously over his shoulder. He couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped his lungs when they turned onto Armitage’s street. His house was an old farmhouse, painted red and white. On clear mornings, one could look from the top windows out over the ocean. 

They climbed the front steps and hurried inside, Armitage locking the door behind them. Pilkington quietly set his board down in the front hallway and kicked off his clunky red skateboard shoes. They made their way upstairs to the older boy’s room not caring about how much noise they made for Armitage’s parents had left town for a few days. Pilkington found himself standing by the window, watching the dark road while Armitage threw together a makeshift bed for him on the floor. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Armitage asked. Pilkington nodded. “Did you see someone?” 

“I don’t know…” Pilkington whispered. “It was probably nothing.” 

“Things have been weird since that kid, Harry, disappeared. I feel it too, you know,” Armitage said quietly. “It’s like…. It’s like someone opened a door and let in a cold draft.” 

“Do you think someone took him? Killed him?” 

“I don’t know. I hope not. I hope… I hope at worst, that there was just an accident,” Armitage said. He took a deep, shaking breath. “Can we stop talking about this?” 

“Yeah… Sorry,” the younger boy whispered. Armitage said nothing as he got up, slipping quietly out of the room and disappearing into the dark hall. A moment later, Pilkington heard the sound of the sink in the bathroom; the taps squeaking and the water splashing against the snow white porcelain. Pilkington pulled off his hoodie and reached for his backpack, changing into his pyjamas. He crawled into the sleeping bag Armitage had given him, slowly resting his head on the thin pillow. 

He glanced to his right; staring into the darkness under Armitage’s bed. 

A jolt of terror shot through the boy. 

He quickly rolled onto his left shoulder, clutching at his pillow tightly. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. A moment later, Armitage returned to the small bedroom. Pilkington listened to him close the door and awkwardly step over the younger boy and jump into his bed. The old metal frame creaked. 

“Goodnight, Pilk.” 

“Goodnight, Tommy,” the younger boy whispered. He kept his eyes closed, listening to the old creaking farmhouse and the rustle of blankets as Armitage pulled them over his head. He listened to the gentle wind in the tree that stood just out front Armitage’s window, the leaves rustling faintly. He listened to the tick of the clock on the bedside table. He listened to the gentle, deepening breath as Armitage slowly fell asleep. He listened to a car go by, the rumble of the engine fading into the distance. He listened to his own breath, to his own heartbeat as the world melted away into the warmth of sleep. 

He listened to the footsteps in the hallway. 

Pilkington’s eyes snapped open. 

He stared into the darkness under Armitage’s bed. 

The boy panicked. When had he rolled over? 

He sat up, staring at the closed bedroom door with wide eyes. He listened. The wind rustled the tree outside the window. Armitage let out a quiet sigh. The little blue clock on the bedside table ticked. Pilkington took a deep breath and laid back down. He snuggled deeper into his sleeping bag, his back to the darkness under Armitage’s bed. 

Sleep wasn’t far away, embracing him in the warm darkness. 

The ocean wind danced through the leaves just outside the window. The old house shifted. 

The bedroom door creaked. 

A floorboard groaned under a heavy boot. 

“Pilk…” a voice whispered through the dark. “Pilkington…” 

Hot breath laced with the scent of rot and meat oozed over the boy’s face. 

The boy’s nose crinkled. 

He opened his eyes. 

Pilkington glanced around the darkness, his brow furrowing. He looked up at the open door. His heart pounded frantically in his chest as he slowly pushed the blanket off. He stood up, reaching nervously to shake Armitage’s shoulder. 

“T-Tommy…” Pilkington whispered. 

“What?” Armitage groaned. He frowned as he watched Pilkington tiptoe towards the door, hesitantly peering into the dark hallway. “Did you open the door?” Pilkington didn’t answer as he stepped into the hall. The floorboards creaked under his bare feet, the hems of his long red pyjama pants dragging on the wood. “Pilk?” he heard Armitage call after him. “Pilk!” The older boy let out a frustrated sigh as he threw off the blankets and hurried after him. They crept past the door to Armitage’s parent’s room, the faint white glow of the moonlight filtering through the white curtains hanging over the bedroom window and spilling into the hallway. 

They reached the top of the stairs. 

“I thought… I thought I heard someone…” Pilkington whispered as they stared down into the darkness. 

“Who?” 

“I-I don’t know,” Pilkington breathed. 

“We should make sure no one else is here… You’ve freaked me out, Pilk,” Armitage said as he reached for the light switch. The lights flickering on caused Pilkington to squint his eyes. Armitage started down the stairs, turning on the hall light as he reached the bottom. Pilkington followed. 

“Should we call the police?” 

“No one is in here,” Armitage said as he checked the lock on the front door. “It’s just us,” Armitage sighed as he walked past him to the kitchen, turning on the light. He yanked open the fridge, taking out the bottle of milk. Pilkington watched him from the doorway, fidgeting with his sleeve. A shiver ran up his spine. He glanced back over his shoulder at the front door. Armitage poured the milk into his cup. 

A shadow passed the kitchen window behind him. 

Pilkington started down the hallway towards the door. 

He stopped by the stairs down to the basement. 

Wondering if they should check down there too, Pilkington reached for the light switch. The white light flickered on. 

A red rubber ball rested on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. 

Pilkington frowned. 

A sudden, furious pounding on the front door made the boy jump. 

He turned, the shiny red ball forgotten. The loud knocking on the door didn’t stop. 

“W-Who could that be?” Pilkington stammered. Armitage nervously tip-toed towards the door, the wood shuddering under the heavy knocks. Armitage peered through the peephole. Pilkington watched as Armitage quickly unlocked the door and pulled it open. 

“T-Tozer? Are you okay?” Armitage gasped as the tall boy stumbled into the hall. He looked pale. 

“I-I…” Tozer stammered. “Sorry… it’s late… I uh…” 

“It’s okay!” Armitage said, gently rubbing his shoulder. He glanced outside at the blue convertible in the driveway. Armitage quickly closed the door and locked it. “Are you okay?” Armitage asked again. Tozer glanced up at Pilkington who watched him, his eyes wide with worry. Tozer cleared his throat. 

“Can I have some water?” Tozer asked quietly. Pilkington nodded and ran to the kitchen. Tozer kicked off his shoes and slowly followed, Armitage close beside him. “Why are all the lights on? What are you two up to?” Tozer asked a small smile pulling his lips as the younger boy handed him a cup of water. 

“Pilk thought he heard someone in here,” Armitage said, crossing his arms. Tozer’s smile wavered as he glanced at the younger boy. “He’s been freaking me out all day.” 

“Did you see him?” Tozer breathed. 

“Him?” Pilkington frowned. “I-I didn’t see anyone. I just thought I heard… Forget it.” 

“Did something happen, Tozer?” Armitage asked. Tozer didn’t answer as he dropped his gaze to the water in his cup. “Was it Hickey?” Tozer took a deep breath. 

“I-I don’t know.” 

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” 

“Something isn’t right… He’s not…” Tozer stammered. He set the cup down on the counter and wrapped his arms around himself. “God, we did something so stupid.” Tozer’s shoulders trembled. Pilkington stared up at the eighteen-year-old boy. He had never seen him cry before. Pilkington wanted to reach for him but Tozer kept his teary gaze on the floor, his arms tight around himself as if holding the pieces that made him up together. “He’s not himself. He’s not the friend I know… It’s like… It’s like he’s…” Tozer couldn’t get the word out of his throat. “Fuck, we’re in so much trouble.” 

“What did you do?” Armitage asked. Tozer shook his head. “Tozer, please.” 

“We can help,” Pilkington said quietly. “Whatever it is, we can figure it out.” 

“I don’t…” Tozer sobbed. 

“It’s okay, Tozer. You can tell us,” Armitage said quietly. The tall boy shook his head, his dusty curls falling over his eyes. He turned away from them, tugging off his denim jacket as though he couldn’t breathe. His red flannel shirt clung to him. He stuffed his hands into his jean’s pockets. 

“We uh… Well first. He… Hickey… he told us to meet him at that weird old house, the one with the black window. I didn’t think much of it, just picked up the others and we drove over. When we got there though, we could all tell that Hickey was… acting differently. He had this weird look in his eyes. I’ve never seen anything like it before. He looked…. Hungry, “ Tozer managed to explain. He slowly turned back to the younger boys. “He told us that he had to do something, something that was going to make everything better… He said he needed our help to steal something, that we all had parts to play in his plans.” 

“Steal what?” 

“That’s what I asked him, thinking that it would be something bad. I got upset with him, how could he just ask us to do something like that? We argued and he finally told us that all he wanted was a spyglass from the library. He said it was kept in an old trunk and no one would notice if it disappeared,” Tozer explained. He took another deep breath. “I don’t know why I agreed to do it.” 

“You broke into the library?” Armitage stammered. “Did anyone see you?” Tozer pressed his hands over his face. “Tozer! Did anyone see you?” 

“We heard sirens as we were leaving,” Tozer stammered. “And we set the alarm off.”

“It’s just a spyglass, right? Some stupid old artifact. You won’t go to jail over that,” Pilkington tried to reassure him. 

“It’s not about what we stole. It’s that we broke into the fucking library! Broke the door! Set off the alarm!” Tozer cried. “We took that spyglass to the old house. Hickey wanted to stay there all night but the rest of us didn’t. We went back to his house. We stayed there all last night and all of today. Hickey told us that we had to stay low… That it wasn’t the right time. Finally, this evening, we went back to the house. Hickey seemed worse. Nothing feels right. And I couldn’t stop thinking about the man that I had seen a week ago…” 

“Who?” Pilkington asked. 

“I just had enough,” Tozer stammered, ignoring Pilkington’s question. “We got into a fight and I ended up leaving. I dropped them all off in town and just took off. I’ve been driving for a while…” Tozer’s hands were shaking. He looked down the hall to the front door nervously. “I keep thinking he’s going to be standing there….” 

“Hickey?” Armitage asked. Tozer said nothing. He curled his hand into a fist. “You should get some sleep, Tozer. You look exhausted.” 

“He’s my friend!” Tozer said suddenly. “He’s not…. He’s not a bad person.” 

“Tozer-” 

“He’s not!” Tears spilt down the boy’s cheeks. “Maybe sometimes he’s mean… but he’s just… He’s just…” Pilkington reached for Tozer, pulling him into a hug. The tall boy leaned his head against the younger boy’s dark curls. “I gotta stop him before he does anything worse… before someone gets hurt…” 

“You can’t do anything right now,” Armitage said gently. “You can sleep though. Things will be clearer in the morning. It’s always scarier in the dark.” Tozer nodded. 

Together, they walked through the house, turning the lights off and checking the locks on the doors once more. Certain they were safe, the three boys started up the stairs, the floorboards creaking under their feet. Tozer had said he’d be alright with sleeping on the couch downstairs but seeing the tears in his eyes made Armitage insist he stay with them. 

Armitage took the left half of his bed and Tozer reluctantly took the right side. 

Neither of them said anything when Pilkington cuddled under the blankets beside Tozer, the tip of his nose brushing against the older boy’s shoulder blade. Pilkington listened to the sounds of the other boy’s breath, of the wind in the tree outside Armitage’s window, of the faint creak of the bedframe when one of them moved, of the old house shifting and groaning. 

Pilkington closed his eyes. 

Sleep was quick to embrace him. He wished for a dreamless sleep but when he opened his eyes, taking in the vast, cold and rocky landscape around him, he realized that was a fruitless wish. The boy stared at the distance horizon shaped by the rolling, shale covered land. The bench under him felt frozen, the cold seeping through his wool trousers. The bone-chilling wind tugged at his messy hair, yanking at his red coat. 

The boy became aware of someone standing behind him. 

The boy’s breath felt ragged in his throat. His nails dug into his palms. 

“Go away,” the boy whispered. “Go away.” 

“Pilk…” 

“G-Go away.” 

A hand reached for the boy’s left shoulder. Dirty fingernails dug into the red wool. A second hand reached around his right side. Resting in the palm of the bloody hand was a red rubber ball. 

“N-No,” the boy gasped. “No!” His eyes snapped open as he violently threw off the blankets as though they were hands. He gasped for air. 

“Pilk?” Tozer whispered from where he sat on the window seat, golden morning sunlight washing over him. “You alright?” The younger boy glanced down at Armitage beside him who was still asleep. He looked back up at the older boy, forcing himself to nod. 

Pilkington got up, making his way over to Tozer. He sat down across from him on the window seat. He leaned against the wall, hugging his legs to his chest. “Bad dream?” Tozer asked. Pilkington nodded. 

“It's okay. I-I get them too,” Tozer whispered. “I doubt there is a single person in this town who doesn’t get them sometimes,” he added reassuringly. Pilkington nodded. He glanced out the window. He could see the glittering sea and the quiet road at the end of the driveway. 

“What are your bad dreams about?” Pilkington whispered. Tozer clenched his jaw, his hand resting on his knee curling slightly into a fist. “You said last night that you kept expecting to see ‘him’. Who is he? Did he hurt you?” 

“No,” Tozer whispered. He stared out the window at the glittering sea. The clock on the table ticked; it was nearly noon. “I just… I just saw him.” 

“What did he look like?” Pilkington asked. His arms around his legs tightened. He rested his chin on his knees. 

“I-I… I don’t know how to describe it. It happened a week ago, the night Harry disappeared, but I can’t get it outta my head and I feel in some horrible way he has something to do with what's going on. It doesn’t sound real and Hickey wouldn’t believe me,” Tozer stumbled over his words, his voice quiet and shaking. 

“You can tell me,” Pilkington whispered. Tozer took a deep breath. 

“I saw him through the window at Hickey’s house. He...He was wearing all white except for this heavy coat and his boots. And his face…” Tozer took a deep breath. “His mouth… it was all bloody and he smiled at me.” 

Pilkington felt as though he was about to be sick, a wave of terror crashing over him and threatening to pull him under. He could barely breathe. The boy glanced over his shoulder at Armitage who was still asleep. His gaze dropped to the dimly lit space under the bed. 

“I thought it was just a dream or something but then he spoke to me. His voice… I know I’ve heard it somewhere before but I don’t know where or when,” Tozer continued. The younger boy slowly raised his gaze from the dark space, his wide eyes nervously taking in Armitage’s bedroom. The walls were painted a soft blue. The bookshelf on the far wall was messy, books and papers stuffed in where there was space. A few old trinkets and toys stood on the shelf; one of them a little wooden marine, his red uniform glinting in the sunlight. Posters of movies and bands hung on the walls. Clothes were leaking out of the closet and the floor between the bed and the desk was messy with the blankets that Armitage had found for Pilkington. On the dresser was a television and beside it a VCR tape for a scary zombie movie.

The boy forced himself to look back at Tozer. 

His dirty blonde curls fell over his forehead. His white t-shirt had a hole in the collar. Tied around his waist was the red flannel he had worn the night before. The hems of his jeans were torn, loose threads dangling against his ankles. His watery eyes were fixed on the shimmering sea. 

Pilkington found himself lost for words. He fidgeted with the sleeve of his red pyjama shirt. “Do you think…” Pilkington tried to say. He stopped, taking a deep breath. “What do you think he is? A ghost?” 

“Who would haunt me?” Tozer asked, a small, bitter smile pulling at his dry lips. “But then again… There are ghosts everywhere in this town.” 

“Everywhere?” the younger boy whispered. Tozer nodded. 

“We’re all haunted in some way or another.” 

“Is the man you saw… with the bloody smile…” Pilkington struggled to get the words out. He found himself closing his eyes tightly as if that would force the horrifying image from his mind. “Is he a ghost?” 

“Maybe,” Tozer breathed. “But something tells me he’s something much worse. I think he’s angry.”

Pilkington remembered the red ball rolling across his bedroom floor from the closet, the red rubber glinting in the moonlight. He remembered sitting up, wondering why his friend would wake him up so late. He remembered rolling to the edge of his bed. 

He remembered reaching for the red ball. 

The sound of sirens made Pilkington jump. He turned, looking down at the road. 

An ambulance sped past the quiet house, racing towards town. 

Tozer paled. 

He looked up at Pilkington who stared back at him with wide eyes. 

“Armitage, get up!” Tozer cried as he pushed himself off the window seat. He smacked the sleeping boy’s shoulder, earning an annoyed groan. 

“What is it?” Armitage yawned. 

“Something bad happened…I think,” Pilkington said as he reached for his backpack. Tozer was already throwing open the bedroom door and hurrying down the hall, the red flannel tied around his waist fluttering with every step. The two younger boys hurried to get dressed, Pilkington jumping into his socks as he stumbled down the hallway, his red hoodie fluttering wildly around him. They barely had time to pull on their shoes and run out the door when they heard Tozer’s car rumble to life. Before he could protest, Pilkington jumped over the car door into the front seat, Armitage scrambling into the back. 

“What are you doing?” Tozer snapped. 

“Coming with you,” Armitage said sharply. “Go!” Tozer frowned but backed out of the driveway nonetheless. Soon, they were flying down the winding road, the blue car glittering in the sunlight. Pilkington glanced at Tozer out of the corner of his eye. His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, his eyes locked on the road ahead. “What do you think happened?” Armitage called out over the wind. Tozer didn’t answer.

Soon they were flying past the old buildings that made up the town, past the old, quiet school where last February, Tozer had been unable to break up a fight between Hickey and James Fitzjames, the two bloodied boys sent to detention over a postcard. 

They passed the small corner store where the manager was anxiously calling the parents of the boy who worked there; he hadn’t come back from his break. 

They passed the street where Tozer and the other boys in Hickey’s group had laughed at Francis Crozier after stealing his bicycle. 

That shabby, yellow bicycle was still in Tozer’s garage. 

They turned the corner. 

Tozer slammed on the brakes. 

A crowd of people were gathered out front of the church, flashing red and blue lights illuminating their pale faces. 

“I-Is there a gathering today?” Pilkington stammered. Tozer turned the key, the engine’s rumble dying out. 

“Stay here,” Tozer ordered as he got out of the car, the two younger boys staring at him with wide eyes. They watched him walk towards the crowd, pushing his way through. Movement at the church door caught Pilkington’s eye. The younger boy quickly threw open the car door and ran after Tozer, the laces of his untied shoes flying around his feet. He shoved his way through the crowd, reaching the front as Tozer wrapped an arm around him, pulling the shorter boy back. 

The crowd watched in silence as the body, wrapped in black, was carried from the church. 

“W-Who…” Pilkington gasped. 

Someone wailed in the crowd. They could only watch as the mother sobbed, the body of her boy carried towards the waiting ambulance. 

Whispers swirled around Pilkington. 

“That’s Mrs Irving…” 

“Someone killed her boy… I heard the floor in there is covered with blood. Won’t be mass for a while.” 

“He was such a bright boy…” 

“Who would do such a thing?” 

Slowly, Tozer began to turn away. Pilkington reached for his hand. 

“Tozer…” Pilkington whispered. “Tozer, it’s not… We don’t know anything for certain,” the younger boy tried to reassure him as they walked back through the crowd. Armitage stood near the back, his eyes wide with fear. 

“Who is it?” Armitage dared to ask. 

“John Irving,” Pilkington whispered. 

“Oh shit,” Armitage breathed. Tozer pressed his hands over his face. 

“He has something to do with it…” Tozer whispered. “I know he does.” 

“Hickey? How?” Armitage said, keeping his voice low as he glanced around nervously. Tozer pushed past him and started towards his car. Pilkington stayed on his heels. 

“What do we do?” Pilkington stammered. “If Hickey had something to do with it shouldn’t we tell someone?” 

“And get Tozer in trouble too? No, Hickey would tell on him,” Armitage pointed out. “We can’t tell anyone.” 

Tozer pulled open his car door and suddenly got in, turning the key. The engine roared to life. 

“Where are you going?” Armitage cried. 

“I’m getting that spyglass and bringing it back to the library. I don’t know what Hickey’s plan is but I feel…” Tozer shook his head. “Go home. I’ll call you later.” 

Pilkington shook his head and reached for the passenger door. 

“We’re coming with you.” 

“It’s not safe, Pilk.” 

“It’s not safe, that’s why we’re coming with you,” Pilkington said as he got into the car. Armitage jumped into the back, ignoring Tozer’s protests. “We’ll get the spyglass back and we’ll vouch for you when you return it.” 

“Fine. But you have to listen to everything I say. Got it?” Tozer said sharply. 

“Got it,” Pilkington and Armitage repeated. Tozer didn’t believe them but he turned the car around and began to speed down the street. 

Pilkington watched the quiet houses go by. The salty wind whispered through the trees that lined the old, cracking road. A seagull soared overhead. 

The boy had never seen a dead body before. Though the boy had been wrapped up he could still make out the outline of his head, his shoulders and legs. He knew John only a little. He was smart; he had tutored him in math a few years ago. Pilkington had seen him with his friends; most of them loud but a part of Pilkington thought they were cool. Not nearly as cool as his friends though, the older boys in red flying down the old roads on their skateboards; invincible. 

Yet he knew that John’s friends would be overwhelmed with grief when they found out. Pilkington imagined that he’d feel the same if he ever lost one of his friends. He found himself glancing back at Armitage just to make sure he was still there. Armitage gave him a small, reassuring smile. 

As he turned back to face the front, Pilkington caught sight of the old, abandoned house with its black window. 

“You seriously hid it in there?” Armitage sighed. 

“Hickey said that this is where the door is,” Tozer said quietly. “He said that we’re all going to know the truth.” The car came to a stop out front of the old, decrepit house. 

“The truth?” Pilkington whispered as Tozer turned the key. The three boys sat in silence for a few moments, staring at the foreboding house. 

Neither of them wanted to be the first to move. 

“Okay…” Tozer took a deep breath and opened his door, getting out of the car. The two younger boys were quick to follow. Pilkington’s chest felt as though it were filled with a thousand birds fluttering frantically against his rib cage. His hands trembled. He stuffed them into the pockets of his hoodie as he followed Tozer up the lawn. He glanced nervously at the black window, it’s glass not even glinting in the sunlight. 

“Y-You know where the spyglass is right?” Armitage asked. 

“Yeah. We’ll get it and get out,” Tozer said firmly. 

“Okay,” Armitage nodded. The three boys started around the house. It’s once brilliant white paint was peeling off the old wooden sides. The grass was dead, crunching under their shoes and sticking the red, untied laces of Pilkington’s skateboard shoes. They cautiously made their way around the corner of the house. Tozer suddenly stopped. 

Leaning against the side of the house and laying in the dead grass were bicycles. 

One of them was a deep navy blue colour. Carved into the side was the word  _ Erebus.  _

“What are they doing here?” Tozer breathed as he stared down at the large blue bicycle. 

“Who?” 

“Fitzjames and his friends,” Tozer muttered.

“Do they know?” Armitage asked. 

“No,” Tozer stammered. “At least… I don’t think so. I don’t know why they’d come here…” 

“Maybe it was a dare,” Armitage shrugged. 

“All of them went in,” Pilkington pointed out as he glanced around the lawn. There wasn’t another soul around. "If it was a dare... not all of them would have gone in."

“Come on,” Tozer said, stepping over the bicycles. “We can ask them.” He climbed the creaking old steps and reached for the half-open door, pushing it open further. The younger boys nervously followed. 

The kitchen was dark and dirty, the smell of putrid food hanging in the stale air. The white floor was dirty, streaked with stains, one of the kitchen chairs laying on its side.

Resting on the dirty counter was a skateboard. Curious, he lifted it up. The blue wheels shimmered in the dim, grey light. On the bottom of the board was a handpainted scene of a diver in an old fashioned diving suit. High above him looked to be clouds, or maybe it was ice, the boy couldn't quite figure it out. He frowned as he set the skateboard back down on the counter. It didn’t belong to anyone he knew. He turned away from the counter, taking in the rotting room.

Most strange of all was a neatly stacked pyramid of red tin cans in the centre of the table; left intentionally. 

Pilkington looked up at the dark hallway that led out of the kitchen and deeper into the cold house. He shivered, pulling his red hoodie closer. 

“Where is the spyglass?” Armitage whispered, kicking at a piece of broken glass on the floor. 

“T-This way,” Tozer breathed, leading the way into the dark hallway. The floorboards creaked under his red running shoes. Pilkington’s heart pounded. He could see his breath cloud around him with every exhale. 

The three boys reached the end of the hall, finding themselves between the wide entrances to the dining room and the living room. Pilkington glanced at the old, dirty mirror above the fireplace in the sitting room. He could see the three of them, nervous and huddled together, each watching the back of the other. He could see the chairs draped in white sheets like ghosts. He watched Tozer step into the dining room, his wide eyes on the foreboding black window. 

“Fuck,” Tozer panicked. Pilkington turned away from the mirror. 

“What is it?” Pilkington whispered, unsure why he kept his voice down. He felt as though he would disturb someone if he yelled. 

“The spyglass is gone.”

“Did those other kids take it?” Armitage wondered. 

“Why would they?” Pilkington frowned. 

“Maybe they just thought it was cool and took it,” Armitage shrugged. Tozer glanced up at the ceiling. 

“Do you hear that?” 

“Hear what?” 

“Exactly… Six or seven kids would make a lot of noise,” Tozer said, glancing down at the two younger boys. Pilkington looked nervously back at the mirror as he listened. 

He heard the heavy thud of his heartbeat, heard the creak of floorboards under Armitage’s feet as he nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other, heard Tozer’s deep, shaking breath. 

“Where are they?” Pilkington whispered. 

“Look, we came here to find the spyglass and it isn’t here. We should get out of here,” Armitage said. “It feels bad here.” 

“John Irving was murdered today. God knows what happened to Harry Goodsir. Do you want these kids to wind up dead or missing too?” Tozer suddenly snapped. Armitage looked down at his feet. “Something is wrong and I am not letting anyone else get hurt today. And that includes Hickey too.” 

“We know,” Pilkington said gently. “No one else is going to get hurt.” A floorboard overhead creaked under the weight of a heavy boot. The three boys glanced nervously at each other. 

Slowly, Tozer led the way to the staircase. He shivered, his arms covered with goosebumps. He placed his foot hesitantly down on the first step. It creaked loudly. The loose red shoelace got caught on a sliver. As Tozer made his way up the stairs, the younger boys hesitantly followed. Pilkington glanced over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the black window through the doorway to the dining room. 

For a moment, he thought he saw someone’s reflection on the black glass. 

The boy hurried after Armitage and Tozer, nearly running into them as they reached the top of the stairs. 

Upstairs it was painfully cold. 

Pilkington wrapped his arms around himself, his jaw clenched to hide its chattering. His red hoodie was no match against the frigid air. 

The three boys glanced around the dark hallway. What looked like snow and frost covered the floor. The door to their left was open, leading to a dirty bathroom, the white tiles streaked with what looked like old, dried blood. Red tin cans lay scattered across the floor. The light flickered nauseatingly. 

In front of them, was a bedroom door. Tozer pushed it open, letting out a cry as a rat scurried between his red shoes. The two younger boys jumped away from the creature, watching it flee down the stairs. 

Tozer turned back to the bedroom door, finding the room a mess. Old rifles lay in a pile in the middle of the room. Red military coats were strewn across the beds and pooling on the floor like blood. Among them lay what appeared to be an old logbook. 

“What is this place?” Armitage whispered. 

“I didn’t know this was here,” Tozer stammered. 

“Hey…” Pilkington tugged on Tozer’s shirt. “Over there.” Tozer stepped back into the hall, following the shorter boy’s gaze to the open door at the end of the hallway. 

On the floor was a flickering flashlight. 

“That must belong to them,” Pilkington breathed. Tozer nodded as he cautiously started down the hallway. The floorboards creaked and groaned. The house around them seemed to be holding its breath. The cold air bit at their cheeks and noses. Pilkington followed Tozer, stepping where he did on the old rotting floor. 

Tozer reached the door.

He bent down. His fingers curled around the flashlight. The tall boy stood back up. 

The light suddenly shone in the face of the man who stood in front of him. 

The blood dripping down his sharp chin glinted in the light. 

He smiled. 

The flashlight fell from Tozer’s hand as he stumbled backwards. Armitage suddenly grabbed Tozer, yanking him out of the room. 

Pilkington stared in horror at the man with the bloody smile as he stepped towards him. 

Tozer grabbed onto the frozen boy.

The three terrified boys sprinted down the hall. They reached the bathroom door, the three boys running inside. 

Tozer slammed the door. 

The three boys sank to the hardwood floor, heaving for air. 

Pilkington leaned his head against Tozer’s shoulder, the red wool of his coat soft against his cheek. 

“W-What was that?” Armitage gasped, wrapping his arms around his legs. His navy blue collar rubbed against his jaw. The brim of his hat glinted in the warm lamp light. 

“Where did you get that hat?” Pilkington asked. 

“Where did you two get that uniform?” Armitage shot back, pulling the strange hat off his head. Tozer frowned, looking down at the red and white uniform coat and warm, dark trousers he wore. His boots felt heavier than any other shoes he had ever had; even his winter boots. He glanced at Pilkington who was dressed nearly identical to him. 

Pilkington poked one of Tozer’s golden buttons. 

He looked like a nutcracker. 

“Hey,” Armitage stammered. He reached for Tozer, gripping his arm tightly. “Where are we?” Armitage breathed. Pilkington looked up, the warm light of the lanterns illuminating his pale face. The three boys slowly got to their feet, taking in the dimly lit, long room. There was a faint smell of cooking food and sweat in the air. They could faintly hear the sound of singing voices; a birthday tune. 

The ship around them creaked and groaned as though something was trying to crush it. 

“We’re on a boat,” Pilkington whispered. 

“But we’re not moving,” Armitage pointed out. Tozer slowly stepped further into the dimly lit room, past the nook where the ship’s cook would have made every meal. A pot still boiled on the burner, steam floating up to the wooden ceiling. The warm light glinted off the gold buttons on Tozer’s red uniform coat, the tails swishing against the backs of his legs just as his red flannel had just a few moments ago. 

Pilkington tugged at the tight white collar around his throat. 

The two younger boys got up, following Tozer deeper into the ship. 

"This isn't a dream... is it?" Pilkington asked nervously. Armitage reached for his wrist and pinched him hard. "Ow!" Pilkington shoved the boy away. 

"Not a dream," Armitage said as he turned to catch up with Tozer. He ran his fingers over the cook’s table, flour sticking to the pads of his fingers. At the far end of the table were red tin cans. 

Curious, Pilkington picked up one of the open cans and lifted it to his nose. The boy gagged, nearly dropping the tin can and spilling its rotten contents all over his pristine red uniform. 

“S-Shit,” the younger boy coughed as Tozer took the can from him. “What is that? Dog food?” Tozer’s nose crinkled with disgust. He set the tin can back down on the table with the others as Armitage took a step back from the foul-smelling tin cans. 

“Do you think someone really ate that?” Pilkington asked, glancing around the cramped kitchen. 

“God, I hope not,” Armitage breathed. 

“Come on,” Tozer said, quickly stepping away. The younger boys didn’t need more encouragement to follow him. 

They walked among a forest of hammocks. Some of them had blankets and even a book or two. The smell of tobacco hung in the air. Armitage rolled into one of the hammocks, laughing as it swung back and forth. 

“It's comfy!”

“How did you get in? I want to try!” Pilkington cried, struggling to climb into the hammock beside him. The sixteen-year-old boy laughed as he tumbled to the floor, the golden epaulettes on his shoulders glinting. 

“Will you two cut it out?” Tozer said sharply despite a small smile tugging at his lips “We have to get out of here.” 

“Where even is here?” Armitage asked as he rolled out of the hammock. 

“I-I don’t know,” Tozer stammered. 

“This wasn’t in the house. I could have sworn that we ran into the bathroom or was it one of the bedrooms?” Armitage frowned as he and Pilkington followed Tozer further into the ship. The small flames in the oil lamps flickered and danced as they passed. 

“Either way, this isn’t a part of the house,” Tozer breathed. 

“So where are we?” Pilkington whispered. He shivered. 

“Let’s find out,” Tozer said as they reached a hatch, its step ladder leading up to the deck. The three boys glanced hesitantly at each other before Tozer started climbing up the ladder. The older boy reached for the hatch, pushing it open. 

A blast of cold wind hit Tozer in the face. He struggled not to lose his grip on the ladder. He gritted his teeth against the biting cold and climbed to the top of the ladder. 

He reached a gloved hand back to Pilkington, hauling him up onto the frozen deck. The short boy looked wildly around the deck, struggling to see in the cold darkness. The wind clawed at his exposed cheeks, pulling on his heavy grey coat over his uniform. It felt like the air was filled with thousands of tiny particles of ice. Pilkington tugged his scarf up to his nose. 

The icy storm around them raged. The sixteen-year-old boy stared in awe; it was something he had only seen in movies. 

“W-What was that?” Armitage suddenly called out over the screaming wind. Tozer and Pilkington turned, following his shaking hand as he pointed towards the stern. 

“What?” Pilkington squinted against the icy wind. 

Something large suddenly moved across the ship. 

Dark, beady eyes stared at them.

The creature suddenly started towards the three boys. Its thundering paws shook the whole ship. Pilkington thought its roar might deafen him. 

Tozer suddenly grabbed the boy’s arm. 

The three boys sprinted towards the bow of the ship. Armitage made for a hatch but Tozer stopped him. 

“It’ll just break through the wood!” Tozer cried. They reached the railing. Before Pilkington could cry out, Tozer had hauled him up onto the railing, pulling him up by his coat. Armitage was next; the younger boy held onto Tozer tightly as he pulled him over the railing. 

“Jump!” Tozer ordered. Pilkington stared down at the unforgiving ice. “I’m right behind you! Jump!” 

Pilkington took a deep breath and jumped, the creature’s hungry roar thundering through his ears. He instinctively reached for something to catch his fall, his gloved hand grazing against a frozen rope. He couldn’t grip it. 

The boy braced for the impact of the ice. 

The freezing wind whipped around him. The ice rushed towards him. 

He landed among blankets and stuffed animals. 

The warm glow from a night light shaped like a polar bear washed over him. 

Armitage laughed as he landed among the stuffed animals on the bed, one of them falling to the floor with a thud. 

A heavy force suddenly landed on Pilkington, crushing him against the small mattress. 

“Get off! Get off,” the boy cried, hitting at Tozer who let out a wheezing laugh. 

“Are you okay?” Tozer asked. Pilkington glared at him but nodded. 

“F-Fine,” the younger boy managed to say, rubbing his ribs where Tozer’s elbow had dug into him. “What was that thing?” 

“Looked like a bear… I think,” Armitage said. He was dressed in a blue plaid pyjama shirt with matching pants. On his fuzzy socks were yellow ducks. He was holding a teddy bear. It had a little black cap, it’s ears sticking out the top of it. Pilkington frowned as he looked down at the teddy bear. 

“W-Where did you get that?” 

“It was just on the bed beside me,” Armitage shrugged. 

“That’s mine,” Pilkington whispered. “At home… He’s on my dresser. I used to keep him on my bed…” He fidgeted with the sleeves of his red pyjamas. Tozer glanced down at the fuzzy sweater he wore. It was green, the tummy meant to look like a dinosaur’s. There were pointy scales and ears on the hood. His red pyjama pants had been a part of a set given to him by his grandmother, all of the Tozer children got matching pyjamas to wear. He vividly remembered throwing out the pyjamas when he was twelve. 

A thud of something rubber bouncing against the wood floor made the three boys jump. 

They watched the red rubber ball roll towards the bed. 

Pilkington's eyes widened in horror. 

“What is that?” Tozer breathed. “A ball?” He leaned over the bed, stretching his hand towards the shiny red ball. 

“Don’t!” Pilkington cried, desperately reaching for Tozer. 

A bloody hand suddenly reached out from under the bed, grabbing onto Tozer’s wrist. 

The tall boy screamed. Pilkington grabbed onto Tozer, struggling to pull him back onto the bed and out of the monster’s grip. Armitage clung to Tozer, staring at the bloody hand with terror. 

“Let go! Let go!” Pilkington pleaded. The boys pulled again, yanking Tozer from the painfully cold grip. They crashed against the wall. Tozer stared at his bloody wrist, his eyes wet with horrified tears. 

“What the fuck?” Armitage cried, his nails digging into Tozer’s shoulder. 

“W-We can’t… It’s under the bed…” Pilkington stammered. 

“What is? What was that, Pilk?” Armitage yelled. 

“The monster…” 

“D-Does he smile?” Tozer dared to breathe. Pilkington stared up at him. “Is it a bloody smile?” 

Pilkington nodded. 

“I thought he was going to eat me,” Pilkington whispered. “I haven’t seen him for a long time… but it scared me… so much. I wanted to forget that night so badly. How are we back… how is that night again?” 

“I don’t know…” Tozer stammered. 

“We have to get out of here,” Armitage said, struggling to keep his voice firm. 

“We can’t get off the bed!” Pilkington cried. “We can’t touch the floor!” Tozer tore his gaze from his wrist, taking in the dark bedroom. Just across from the bed was a small desk and beside it a bookshelf. To the right of the shelf was the door. 

“That’s it…” Tozer said. “We can’t touch the floor.” 

“What?” 

“The floor is lava,” Tozer said, a small smile pulling at his lips. Armitage let out a spluttering laugh. Pilkington stared up at Tozer with wide eyes. “We’ve played that game how many times? It’s easy, right?” The younger boy nodded. “We just gotta stay out of the lava.” 

“Y-Yeah,” Pilkington nodded, wiping away the tears in his eyes. 

“I’ll go first, okay?” Tozer met the sixteen-year-old boy’s nervous gaze.”And then it’ll be your turn.”

“O-Okay.” 

Tozer took a deep breath. He carefully balanced on the edge of the bed, glancing down hesitantly as he stretched his leg towards the small desk chair. He managed to pull it closer enough to jump on to. It spun as he landed on it, nearly sending him crashing to the floor. 

“Tozer!” Armitage gripped Pilkington’s wrist. 

“I got it!” Tozer said, holding onto the chair. He climbed onto the desk and pressed himself against the wall, ducking his head so he wouldn’t hit the ceiling. “Come on, Pilk.”

The younger boy took a deep, shaking breath. He glanced nervously down at the floor. 

“Lava,” he whispered to himself. “Only lava.” Still gripping Armitage’s wrist, he carefully leaned over the edge of the bed and reached for the chair. His fingers curled around the arm. He let go of Armitage and jumped onto the chair, a wave of nausea washing over him as the chair spun, teetering dangerously. He remembered that old wooden chair breaking when he was ten. 

Taking another breath, he waited for the chair to still before he reached for Tozer’s hand, the older boy pulling him onto the desk. A book fell to the floor. The desk creaked under their weight. 

“I got you,” Tozer said, gripping the boy’s arm tightly. “Okay, Armitage, your turn.” 

“This desk is not going to hold all of us,” Pilkington stammered. He glanced at the bookshelf beside them. “I can go.” 

“Are you sure?” Tozer said quietly. Pilkington nodded. The shorter boy managed to get past Tozer and reached for the shelf. He gripped the top of it as he swung his foot up onto one of the bottom shelves. A few books teetered off the shelf. An action figure fell with them. The shelf wobbled. Pilkinton prayed it would hold him. He glanced over his shoulder, watching Armitage as he jumped onto the chair. It rolled across the floor and slammed into the desk. Tozer let out a cry as the desk shook and creaked violently. “You idiot!” Tozer yelled as Armitage scrambled onto the desk. 

“I didn’t think it would roll that fast!” 

“Be careful!” Tozer snapped. “Do you want to get dragged under the bed by that thing?” 

“No.” 

Tozer sighed and pulled the boy up onto the desk, holding onto his hand tightly. They turned their attention back to Pilkington who still clung to the bookshelf. 

“You’ll need to put a book down so you don’t touch the floor when you open the door,” Tozer instructed. Pilkington nodded. “Get one of those thick books down there,” Tozer said, pointing to the old picture books on the bottom shelf. 

“Got it,” Pilkington said. Slowly, he stepped down a shelf, the whole thing wobbling dangerously. The boy reached for one of the books, struggling to pull it out. Once free, he tossed it to the floor. It landed with a loud thud in front of the door. He glanced back at Tozer and Armitage. 

“Don’t wait for us. Get the door open and run,” Tozer ordered. 

“B-But-” 

“Do it, Pilk.” 

The sixteen-year-old boy took a deep, shuddering breath. He glanced at the darkness under the bed. Slowly, he made his way to the edge of the bookshelf. Holding onto the shelf as tightly as he could, he stuck his foot out towards the book. Once his foot was on it, he had no choice but to jump. The spine of the old book bent violently as the boy’s socked feet slipped on the hardcover. He regained his balance. He stretched his hand out towards the door and pulled it open. 

Dim lantern light washed over him. He could smell sweat and old food, the cold air biting at his cheeks. 

“Go, Pilk!” Armitage called out. The boy nodded and jumped through the doorway. 

His boot slammed down onto the wooden floor and he stumbled forward, nearly crashing to the floor. He reached for a table in the middle of the dimly lit room to stop his fall. 

A drop of blood dripped from the table and fell to the floor. 

Thinking the ship’s floor might still count as lava, the boy leapt onto the table. 

“Are you okay?” Armitage called out to him. 

“Y-Yeah,” the younger boy nodded. He gripped the old table tightly. The ship creaked and groaned around him. Pilkington looked around the dimly lit room nervously. 

The air felt charged, crackling like a whip. 

He turned back to the doorway, watching Armitage climb onto the bookshelf. He slid his feet carefully along the second shelf, kicking a book out of the way. Tozer watched him from where he crouched on the desk. Armitage reached the end of the shelf and began to stretch his foot towards the picture book on the floor. 

A cold hand suddenly gripped Pilkington’s ankle. 

The boy could barely scream as he was dragged off the table. 

He crashed to the bloody floor. 

“Pilk!” Armitage screamed. 

“You think you are smart, don’t you, lad?” the man with the bloody smile snarled as he leaned over the screaming boy. He gripped his shining white collar, pressing the boy down against the floor. “Think you can outsmart me with games?” 

“Get away from him!” Tozer yelled as he jumped through the doorway, the tails of his red coat fluttering. The man looked up at him, his ruby red smile widening. Tozer staggered back, gripping Armitage’s arm tightly. 

“Still think you can give orders, Sergeant Tozer?” the man laughed. “No… You are still just as scared as you were the day we died. Look at you. You are just a scared, little boy.” He turned his gaze back down to Pilkington who clawed at his hand gripping his collar, his cries of terror echoing through the ship. “Did you come here for the spyglass?” 

“Let him go!” Armitage cried. 

“I asked Pilkington,” the man snarled. “I’ll get to you next, Mr Armitage.” He tightened his grip on the boy’s collar. A drop of blood fell onto his tear-stained cheek. “Well? Is that why you are here?” 

Pilkington nodded, his eyes closed tightly. 

He thought that he would drown from the tears that spilled down his cheeks. 

“I had a feeling you three would do this… Just like before. I suppose loyalty has a limit, doesn’t it?” the man sighed, his bloody smile wavering. He looked up at Tozer and Armitage sharply. “We do what we have to do to survive, don’t we boys?” 

“Yes,” a voice from behind the man suddenly said. “We do.” The butt of a rifle suddenly slammed against his head, throwing him off Pilkington who let out a gasping cry. He was dimly aware of the hand gripping his coat, hauling him up as if he weighed no more than a bale of hay. The boy was set down on his feet and pushed backwards, an arm wrapped in red wool gently surrounding him. 

Pilkington looked up. 

Standing just behind him was the soldier who had hidden in his closet; his imaginary friend. 

The marine held onto the boy protectively as the taller marine who had lifted Pilkington off the floor gripped his rifle tightly. Beside him was a man dressed in navy blue, his dark curls falling over his face. He gestured for the two other boys to get behind him. 

The man with the bloody smile swore as he pushed himself up. 

Armitage darted behind the tall marine, pulling Tozer with him. 

“You can’t save them,” the man spat blood onto the floor. “You couldn’t even save yourselves.” 

“Go,” the tall marine ordered. Pilkington could only stare at the shorter marine as he urged him to run. His face was almost the same as his; older but the eyes were the same, he was certain of it. Another gentle shove and the boy was running, the marine close behind. 

“You can’t hide from me here!” the man with the bloody smile yelled at them. “God sees you, Sergeant Tozer!” Pilkington forced himself to not look back as he ran, his boots pounding against the wood floorboards. 

A ghoulish man suddenly stepped from the shadows, reaching hungrily for Pilkington. 

“Get down!” the marine ordered. Pilkington dropped to the floor as the marine raised his rifle, the gunshot cracking through the ship as the man quickly fell out of the way. The marine grabbed the boy’s arm and they kept running. The ship let out a groan of agony as the ice shifted against her. “This way!” the marine grabbed onto the ladder that led up to the deck, scrambling up it. He shoved open the hatch. He carefully stepped out, the dangerous angle and icy, decaying wood nearly sending him slipping all the way down. He turned, reaching for Pilkington. “Careful.” He gripped the boy’s hand tightly as he helped him out onto the deck. 

“W-Who was that?” Pilkington gasped. “I thought he was…”

“The monster under your bed?” the marine called back over the cold wind. The boy stared at him, at the way his grey coat billowed in the wind, a few dark curls escaping his hat. He had seen that face staring back at him from the shadows of his closet; just an imaginary friend, his mother had told him. 

“I thought you weren’t real! W-Who are you?” 

“I’m Private Pilkington,” the marine called out, a smile pulling at his lips. The boy stared at his older self with wide eyes, suddenly noticing the same features of his face that he had begun to notice in his own teenage reflection; the dark eyes, the shadow of a beard, the set of his jaw. 

The abandoned ship let out a scream and shuddered under their boots. 

Pilkington cried out as he slipped, slamming against the wooden deck. 

The marine fell with him, his rifle falling from his shoulder and sliding down to the nearly sideways railing. The two boys, one younger, eyes wide with horror and one older, his usually pristine uniform now streaked with frost and snow, slid down the icy deck, the frozen railing rushing up to meet them. 

Pilkington slammed into the railing. The impact forced the air from his lungs. He gasped wildly as the marine grabbed onto him, trying to pull him away from the edge. 

“Pilk!” the taller marine called down to them. Both the marine and the boy dressed like one looked up at him. 

“W-We are all right,” Private Pilkington shouted over the wind. The boy glanced at the edge of the railing. The ship shifted again under the pressure of the ice with a loud groan. The boy’s eyes widened as he slipped closer to the edge. He gripped the wooden railing, his eyes closed tightly. 

“Hold on!” a voice called out from somewhere below him. The boy opened his eyes. 

Standing on the icy snow below him was a man dressed in navy wool, his heavy coat billowing in the wind. Laying on the ice beside him was a boy, his head bandaged with a strip of navy blue wool. 

“Go that way! There is a way down!” the man called up to Pilkington, pointing towards the snow. 

"Lieutenant Le Vesconte?” Private Pilkington yelled down to him. The marine turned to look up at the taller marine who stood by the hatch with the other man and the two boys, all of them watching nervously. 

Taking a deep breath, Private Pilkington managed to get up, pulling the boy up with a firm hand. Carefully, they made their way towards the stern, the ice crunching under their identical boots, scuffs and all. 

They reached the stern where the ice had risen up against the side. Pilkington jumped from the railing to the ice, rolling down the slippery slope. Private Pilkington wasn't far behind. 

The marine picked up his gun before running towards the Lieutenant who waved to them. Pilkington looked up at the steeply angled ship, watching Tozer and Armitage make their way down the icy deck. 

“Lieutenant, sir,” Private Pilkington said breathlessly as he reached him. His gaze dropped to the boy laying on the snow, the lieutenant’s greatcoat wrapped around him. Blood oozed down the side of his face. 

“Is he a-alive?” Pilkington asked as he dropped to his knees beside the older boy he had only seen in passing before. The boy let out a faint groan of pain as he opened his eyes, woken up by the sound of voices. 

“He is alive,” the lieutenant said, his shoulders trembling from the cold. “He was pulled off the ship.” 

“By Hickey?” the tall marine asked as he reached them, the man in navy blue, Armitage and Tozer close behind. 

“Hickey?” Tozer repeated. 

The boy laying on the snow reached for Pilkington, clutching at his grey coat tightly. 

“J-James?” the boy managed to ask. “Where is James?” Tozer stared down at Henry with wide eyes. 

“I-I don’t know,” Pilkington said quietly. Henry looked past Pilkington, his teary gaze landing on Tozer and the tall marine who looked as though he could be his older brother. 

“W-What the hell are you doing here?” Henry snapped at the boy he had only ever known as a bully. 

“We’re looking for the-” Tozer cut himself off with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here?” 

“You tell me!” Henry snarled, grabbing a handful of snow and throwing it at the tall boy. Tozer responded by kicking snow and ice into the boy’s face. 

“Knock it off!” the tall marine snapped, giving the boy a shove as Henry flipped him off angrily, wiping snow from his face with his other hand. “Now is not the time.” 

“We were looking for the spyglass,” Lieutenant Le Vesconte said with a sigh. “It was James’s idea. We thought it was too dangerous,” he added, glancing down at the boy. 

“We?” Tozer frowned. He turned to the tall marine, finally getting a good look at the same eyes, the same dirty blonde curls and the same small smile. “Who are you? Why were you talking about Hickey? And why did that man call you Sergeant Tozer? That’s my name!” 

“Aye. It’s my name too.” 

“Y-Your name too?” Tozer frowned. 

“He’s you,” Henry said, pressing his hand over his aching forehead “Or something like that. I c-can’t really remember what Goodsir said.” Pilkington looked up at the marine who stood over him, his dark eyes meeting his. 

They were the same. 

“What does that…” Armitage spluttered as he turned to the third man dressed in navy blue, snow landing in his curls. “What does that mean?” 

“To put it simply… we were you a long time ago,” Lieutenant Le Vesconte tried to explain. “We lived just like you and we died… here. In the cold. Now we are ghosts.” 

“So what is this? Reincarnation?” Tozer asked. 

“In a way. You are a part of us, a fragment,” the Lieutenant nodded. 

“So… that means that Hickey… when you said his name, you weren’t talking about my friend?” Tozer turned to Sergeant Tozer slowly, staring up at him with big eyes. The Sergeant met his teary gaze. “P-Please tell me that monster isn’t…” Sergeant Tozer gently reached for the boy’s arm. He knelt down in the snow so the boy wouldn’t have to look up at him. 

“You want to help your friend. So we are going to help him, all right?” Sergeant Tozer said, giving the eighteen-year-old boy’s arm a gentle squeeze. Tozer nodded. “The spyglass you stole, it is very important to us ghosts. It belonged to Lieutenant Le Vesconte’s friend. Now, Hickey… or Mr Hickey, a long time ago, in a way, he was my friend too; I wouldn’t call him that now…” Sergeant Tozer sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “I know him just enough to have an idea of where he hid that spyglass. I know this is scary,” the Sergeant glanced at Pilkington, Henry and Armitage. He took a deep breath. “Just stay close to us and we will explain everything. We will find the spyglass and return it to where you found it and keep your friend out of trouble. We have to start walking now though, it’s a long way from here.” 

“Did Hickey kill John Irving?” Tozer asked suddenly. The Sergeant glanced hesitantly at Lieutenant Le Vesconte and Henry who frowned. 

“What are you talking about? What happened to John?” Henry cried. He pushed himself up, grabbing onto Tozer’s coat. “W-What happened… to John?” Henry gasped. 

“I-I’m sorry…” Tozer stammered. The boy let out a gasping sob as he fell against the taller boy, the Lieutenant rushing to help him up before he could fall to the snow. 

“We just thought he was late…” Henry sobbed against Tozer’s coat. Pilkington rubbed his arm gently. 

“You can help us find the spyglass?” Tozer asked the Sergeant. He nodded. “And you’ll tell us everything?” 

“We promise.” 

Tozer nodded. He glanced down at Henry before managing to grab onto his legs and pull him up onto his back. “Okay,” Tozer nodded as Henry shakily wrapped his arms around his neck. 

Slowly, they started to make their way through the ice. 

Pilkington stayed close to Tozer, keeping a worried eye on Henry who clung to the boy, his face pressed against his warm shoulder. 

As they walked, Sergeant Tozer, Private Pilkington, Lieutenant Le Vesconte and Mr Armitage tried their best to explain to the boys their story; the expedition to the end of the world, the ice that surrounded them and the death that slowly and painfully followed. They explained their attachment to the spyglass and Hickey’s knife, how they ended up far from the Arctic but not close enough to home, the boys listening intently despite the biting cold and the wind. 

“It was a wish,” Private Pilkington said through his muffler. “Someone’s dying wish that keeps us coming back or rather, a part of us coming back. Each time a new fragment breaks off and gets to live again. But we can never seem to have a happy life.” 

“Will we disappear one day?” Pilkington asked. “If we break apart too much?” 

“I suppose so.” 

“Oh.” 

“All the more reason to make sure we live a good life then,” Tozer said with a grunt as he struggled to climb up the ridge in front of them, his arms starting to get sore from carrying Henry on his back. The cold wind whipped around them, their cheeks bitten red. 

“But if one of us dies then it repeats right? Do you remember Graham?” Armitage pointed out. “That kid who was killed years ago?” 

“Shit. And if that wasn’t enough, Harry Goodsir must be dead by now. And now…” Pilkington cut himself off when he heard Henry’s faint sob against Tozer’s shoulder. 

_ No matter what we do, we’ll just come back again.  _

Pilkington pressed his gloved hand over his teary eyes. 

“So all of our friends were really a part of this expedition?” Armitage asked, hoping to distract Henry from the loss of his friend. 

“Yes. Deep down you have our memories too,” Lieutenant Le Vesconte said with a nod. “You might see those memories in dreams or have feelings you remember, little things like that. Sometimes they appear without you even thinking about why you are acting a certain way or why you might like a certain cookie over another.” 

“I like cookies,” Henry muttered weakly. Lieutenant Le Vesconte smiled. 

“It is also why you gravitate towards certain friends over others. You three,” he gestured to Tozer, Armitage and Pilkington. “Have quite a history.” 

“We made tough decisions,” Mr Armitage said with a shrug. “We all did.” 

“Mutiny is more than a tough decision,” Lieutenant Le Vesconte said sharply. 

“You left sick people behind,” Mr Armitage daringly shot back. Henry and Armitage glanced hesitantly between their older selves. 

“Hey,” Sergeant Tozer said as he turned to look back at them. “Leave it. Ain’t no point in arguing now about it. We are all hurting.” 

“What can we do about Hickey?” Tozer asked, the snow crunching under his boots. “If his ghost is so… hungry, how can we stop him? I don’t know if he’ll listen to me. He doesn’t seem like himself.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “I know we’ve done some bad stuff. But he’d never hurt anybody, I know that. He’s good and I just want him to be my friend again.” 

“I know, lad,” Sergeant Tozer said gently. “Suppose we’ll have to figure it out after we get that spyglass back. He will be angry we have it though, that we betrayed him again.” Private Pilkington sighed, glancing at Mr Armitage out of the corner of his eye. 

“Won’t we be able to get out of here once we have it though?” Pilkington asked. 

“It ain’t that easy,” Sergeant Tozer said. “We might be able to save you from the monsters Mr Hickey has created for you but we can’t help you get out of here.” 

“Why?” Armitage asked with a furrowed brow. 

“Because we never got out,” Private Pilkington whispered. 

A heavy silence crashed over them like a dark wave. 

It lingered with them till they reached the top of the tall, icy ridge. Out of breath, the group of lost boys stared out at the rocky, empty landscape that sprawled before them. In the distance was a little camp, a torn, burned flag billowing in the cold wind. Pilkington stared at the camp with a furrowed brow; he’d seen this before. 

He glanced at Private Pilkington who took a deep, shaking breath. 

“Of course he would leave it here,” Lieutenant Le Vesconte suddenly said sharply. He pressed the palms of his gloved hands against his eyes. “He wants to hurt us so badly…” Henry reached for his older self, gripping the sleeve of his wool coat tightly. “I pray James has not come here yet.” 

“I don’t see anyone,” Sergeant Tozer said. “We might be ahead of them.” 

“They all know too?” Armitage asked as Sergeant Tozer started down the other side of the ridge. Mr Armitage nodded. “How?” 

“Dr Goodsir, I believe,” Mr Armitage said. “He found a way to tell his boy everything, writing it all down for him. Captain Fitzjames or rather, his boy came here a week ago and figured it all out once he found out about the journals Dr Goodsir kept.” 

“Does that have to do with why Harry disappeared?” Tozer asked, trying to focus as he stepped down the icy slope, gripping Henry's legs tightly. The injured boy clung to him, eyeing the ice nervously. 

“Mr Hickey does not like it when you discover the truth. It is a threat,” Lieutenant Le Vesconte explained. “Past fragments have suffered greatly because they found out too much.” 

“So what makes us different? Why aren’t we all dead yet?” Tozer asked bluntly. 

“No one before you has ever gotten this far, ever learned the whole truth. Also, you are the first actually willing to fight back,” Sergeant Tozer explained with a smile. He reached back to help his younger self step down the steepest part. 

“I think we have some bad influences,” Armitage said quietly, his eyes on his boots. “Or at least that’s what my mom says. She says we’re always in trouble because we listen to rock music. She calls it the devil’s music.” Pilkington snorted. 

“Devil’s music?” Sergeant Tozer repeated with a laugh. 

“You must have heard it if you’ve been haunting us all our lives,” Armitage said with a frown. 

“Doesn’t mean I’m paying attention all of the time,” Sergeant Tozer glanced at his younger self with a smirk. The eighteen-year-old boy rolled his eyes. 

“But you’ve always been with us? Like our shadows?” Pilkington asked. His boot suddenly slipped on the ice. Sergeant Tozer caught his arm, hauling him back up. 

“Like your shadows,” Private Pilkington smiled, wiping snow from the boy’s coat. 

They fell silent again as the ice under their boots became rocks. 

The land was deceiving, at the top of the ridge the camp had not looked that far away but now, the pale sunlight on his face, Pilkington was almost certain that the camp was moving away from them, slowly becoming swallowed by the fog that had started to set in. 

Finally, they could hear the canvas tent flaps snapping in the wind and smell smoke in the air. The rocks clattered against each other under their boots. 

They reached the edge of the camp. 

A thick fog was slowly closing in around them. 

“Stay close,” Sergeant Tozer said to the boys as he took the first step into the camp. The boys nervously took in the camp. The rocks clattered together under their boots. Various objects lay scattered among the tents; a rifle, a pair of boots, a coat drying on a line. They passed a half-open tent, the canvas covering a long table where men might have once sat to eat and discuss their dismal futures. A blanket hung over the bench, it’s grey folds cascading down onto the rocks. They kept moving, passing smaller tents now. 

Pilkington paused, glancing into one of the tents. One both sides were makeshift beds, the blankets torn and faded, the threads lose. The pillows were thin and stained with sweat, phlegm and blood. A pair of forgotten, worn boots laid on the floor. 

A small pile of books rested by one of the beds. 

He thought of the library at home, the smell of dust and the warm sunlight shining through the old windows as he read, sitting on the floor between the shelves. 

“Come on,” Private Pilkington whispered, reaching for his arm. “Don’t want to get left behind…” They hurried to catch up to the others. They walked past abandoned boats that had been hauled over ice and rock, past empty red tin cans and silent tents, their contents spilling out like entrails. The sixteen-year-old boy stayed close to the marine. 

Slowly, they came to a stop in front of a larger tent. It's dirty canvas walls billowed in the cold wind, pulling at the ropes that held it down to the earth.

There was a metallic, bloody sent in the air. 

Henry slid off Tozer’s back, still holding onto his arm as he tried to catch his balance on his week, bruised legs. 

“Stay out here,” Lieutenant Le Vesconte ordered the boys before he stepped into the tent, his navy blue coat looking more worn than it had when they started walking. A few buttons were missing. The gold ribbon around his hat had become dirty and faded. 

Sergeant Tozer followed him into the tent, the boys peering through the flap as he went through it, trying to catch a glimpse of what lay inside. 

“Why can’t we go in?” Armitage demanded as he turned to his older self. “It’s our memory too.” 

“You are just boys,” Mr Armitage said quietly. “You don’t need to see what is in there.” Armitage frowned. 

“We saw that dead boy today,” Pilkington whispered, his eyes on the entrance to the tent. “Well… not really. He was covered up. But we saw him. We saw his mom crying.” Mr Armitage glanced hesitantly at Private Pilkington who stared down at his younger self, clutching his rifle tightly. “I didn’t really know him. He tutored me in math class a few years ago. He was nice. He was going to go to university in the fall.” 

Tozer stared down at his boots, his arm crossed tightly over his hug. His eyes were wet with tears. 

Henry stared at the flap. Tears soaked into the collar of his navy blue coat. It too had become worn, the deep navy colour faded, the gold buttons scratched and unpolished. 

“Is it scary?” Pilkington asked as he looked up at Private Pilkington and Mr Armitage. 

“What is?”

“Dying?” the sixteen-year-old boy asked. “Is it scary?” 

“I don’t even remember it happening…” Private Pilkington said quietly. “I don’t think I even felt it happen.”

Henry suddenly lunged for the entrance of the tent, throwing back the flap. 

The scream of horror that escaped his chest echoed through the camp. He fell to the floor of the tent as the other boys piled in after him, horror crashing over them like a wave. 

On the wooden table in the middle of the tent lay a torn and bloody corpse. 

Lieutenant Le Vesconte reached for his boy, carrying him from the tent. Sergeant Tozer took a step towards the remaining boys, his eyes dark with anger. Pilkington flinched away from him, stumbling to the side of the tent. 

His boot slammed into a fur pack. 

A metallic sound echoed through the tent as the boy fell backwards to the floor of the tent, slamming against a table that was covered with old medicine bottles. The little bottles rattled as they tipped over. 

“O-Ow…” Pilkington winced. He opened his eyes, looking down at the fur pack under his boot. 

Slowly, he reached for it. He pulled it open, his fingers curling around cold brass. 

The spyglass glinted in the dim, grey light. 

Pilkington looked up at Sergeant Tozer with wide eyes. 

“T-That’s it,” Tozer stammered. “That’s the spyglass we stole… You were right.” 

“Don’t let go of it,” Sergeant Tozer said as he helped Pilkington up. He ushered the boys out of the tent, the group of them stumbling back out into the fog. Pilkington gripped the spyglass tightly to his chest, fearing that if he dropped it everything would be lost. The cold brass made his fingers feel numb but the boy did not let go. 

“We should leave,” Lieutenant Le Vesconte said as he looked around the thick fog that surrounded him. “We got what we came for. We should find the captains.” 

“Perhaps we should head back towards the ships. They might find their way back there too?” Private Pilkington suggested. 

“That’s a long walk,” Lieutenant Le Vesconte breathed as he glanced down at the boy who clung to him, his face pressed against the wool of his coat. He placed his hand gently against his head, checking to make sure the bleeding hadn’t begun again. 

“Then we should find a safe memory for them to go to,” Sergeant Tozer said firmly. 

Rocks clattered underfoot somewhere in the fog. 

Pilkington’s eyes widened with terror as he stared into the thick greyness that surrounded them. 

“W-What was that?” Armitage dared to breathe. 

“He’s here.” Sergeant Tozer pulled his rifle from his shoulder, raising it in the direction the sound had come from. “Get behind us,” he ordered the boys who quickly hid behind him. Tozer reached for Pilkington, holding his wrist tightly. The young boy trembled, his hot breath fogging up the lens of the spyglass. 

Another rock clattered under a boot somewhere behind them, all of them turning quickly in the direction of the sudden sound. 

A whistle drifted through the foggy air. 

Pilkington could hear his heart pounding in his chest. 

Private Pilkington tightened his grip on the rifle in his hands as he scanned the fog. 

Armitage reached blindly for Tozer, gripping the older boy’s coat. 

Henry stared into the swirling fog as another whistle drifted through the air. 

“Do you hear that whistle?” Mr Armitage breathed. Sergeant Tozer narrowed his eyes. 

“There it is again, Sergeant,” Lieutenant Le Vesconte whispered as he glanced over his shoulder at the greyness behind them. 

Pilkington’s numb hands trembled against the brass of the spyglass. 

Pale fingers suddenly wrapped around the boy’s wrists, yanking him from the group. The boy gasped as he looked up at the man with the bloody smile. His nails dug into the boy’s wrists. Blood dripped onto the lens of the spyglass. 

“First you thought you could go back to the ships without me… and now this,” Mr Hickey said. Pilkington could only stare up at him in horror. The fog swirled around him. For a moment, Pilkington believed that the entire world had disappeared, leaving him completely and utterly alone in this nightmare. 

The man’s smile widened as though he’d swallow the boy whole. 

Private Pilkington suddenly lunged through the fog, swinging his rifle at the back of the man’s head. 

The man disappeared into the fog. 

Pilkington fell to the rocks, the marine’s rifle just missing his skull. 

The boy gasped in pain as he hit the ground. The spyglass slipped from his hands. The rocks dug into his palms. Blood smeared onto the shale. The spyglass clattered onto the rocks. Despite the pain, the boy crawled after the spyglass, his bloody hand curling around the cold brass. 

Tozer grabbed onto Pilkington, hauling him to his feet. 

Before he could protest, his lungs still gasping for air, the boys were running, sprinting through the fog as fast as they could. Henry struggled to keep up, leaning against Armitage who supported him with an arm around him. Pilkington looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Sergeant Tozer through the fog. 

“Get in a tent!” the Sergeant yelled at the boys. 

They dove towards the nearest one, throwing open the flap. 

Henry fell to the snow-covered ice, the falling snowflakes that now swirled through the air landing on his navy blue coat. The golden ribbon around his hat glinted in the icy light. He struggled to catch his breath as he pushed himself up to his knees. 

Blood dripped to the snow beside him. 

Henry looked up at Pilkington who clutched the spyglass to his chest. Blood soaked through his gloves. Just as he opened his mouth to reassure him, a gunshot crackled through the cold, snowy air. 

Pilkington flinched. 

He slowly took a step forward, nearing the edge of the icy ridge they stood on top of. Tozer scanned the endless plain of ice that stretched towards the horizon before them. 

A dark hole in the ice below caught Pilkington’s eye. 

“W-What was that?” Henry gasped. Snowflakes landed on his navy blue coat, the golden buttons shining in the white light. The sound of the tent flap behind them caused them to jump. Pilkington turned, watching Sergeant Tozer, Private Pilkington, Lieutenant Le Vesconte and Mr Armitage stumble into the snow, out of breath. Private Pilkington eyed the doorway cautiously. 

“We heard a gunshot,” Armitage stammered. 

“Where did it come from?” Sergeant Tozer asked, turning his bright gaze to the ice. 

“Over there,” Tozer said, pointing just to the left of them. Squinting to see through the snow, Pilkington could make out what looked like the masts of a ship. 

“ _ Erebus?”  _ Lieutenant Le Vesconte breathed. “This is James’s memory.” 

“James?” Henry looked up at him with wide eyes. The Lieutenant nodded. Henry turned back to the ship, his hands curled into fists at his sides. 

Movement down below caught Pilkington’s attention; a group of the ghoulish sailors making their way through the snow. 

“Get down,” Sergeant Tozer said quietly, lowering himself to the snow. The boys crouched in the snow, peeking nervously over the edge. Henry shot a glare at Tozer when he leaned too close to him to look over the edge. 

One of the ghouls moved closer towards the ridge, his tired eyes on a gap in the ice. 

Pilkington watched, horrified, as he suddenly lunged towards the bottom of the gap, his pale hands grabbing onto navy blue wool. 

He hauled a screaming boy from the gap between the ice, lifting him off his feet. 

“Ja-” Henry started to scream but was cut off when Tozer suddenly grabbed him, pressing his hand over his mouth. 

“We’re outnumbered. They can’t know we’re here,” Tozer hissed as Henry hit at him just as James kicked and hit at the ghoul that hauled him over to the others, laughing at his terrified screams. Henry tried to punch Tozer’s side. Tears spilled down his pink cheeks. 

“We gotta help him,” Pilkington gasped. Private Pilkington nodded. Sergeant Tozer gripped his rifle tightly. Lieutenant Le Vesconte watched with wide, terrified eyes. Henry let out a muffled, sob. Slowly, almost mechanically, Sergeant Tozer pushed himself up to one knee, the rifle steady in his hands. The boy dressed as a commander of a great ship screamed as he was thrown around as though he were nothing more than a child's toy. Lieutenant Le Vesconte’s hands curled into fists. 

“H-help him…” Henry gasped. “James..” 

“They are gonna kill him!” Armitage stammered. “Shoot him!” 

Pilkington dared to move his right hand away from the spyglass, pressing his bloody glove over his eyes. 

A loud gunshot thundered across the ice. 

Pilkington peeked between his fingers at Sergeant Tozer who frowned as he lowered his unfired gun to watch Captain James Fitzjames run across the ice towards the boy only to stop when of the ghouls grabbed James, yanking him back towards the abyssal hole in the ice. 

“C-Could he make that hole a doorway?” Lieutenant Le Vesconte stammered. “Into a better memory?” 

“If De Voeux drops him now, the boy will die. There will be no time,” Private Pilkington gasped. “He needs at least a minute to locate the right memory.” 

“B-But if he has a minute... He can make it a door to another memory?” Pilkington breathed. “That’s how you got us away from that camp, right? We went through the tent…” 

They watched Captain James Fitzjames slowly hold his hand out, watching the man intently as he took a cautious step forward. The boy glanced down at the dark hole, letting a terrified scream, his heavy navy coat, identical to the Captain’s, billowing wildly as he struggled. 

The Captain took another step. 

Sergeant Tozer suddenly raised his gun and fired before Pilkington could cover his eyes again. 

The man staggered, letting go of James. 

The Captain lunged towards him, catching his hand. 

“There’s his minute,” Sergeant Tozer said, lowering his smoking gun. “There will be others. We should move.” 

Henry shakily pushed himself up, wincing every time James’s screams echoed towards them. Suddenly, his scream faded away into silence, as though he were sliding under the ice. 

“W-Where did he send him?” Henry asked. 

“Somewhere safe,” Lieutenant Le Vesconte said gently. “We will find him.” 

“Did you kill him?” Tozer asked Sergeant Tozer who responded with a rough laugh. 

“We’re already dead,” Sergeant Tozer said. “It hurts like hell though.” 

“You still feel pain?” Armitage asked. 

“We feel everything,” Sergeant Tozer shrugged. “Pain the most. At the end, all we were was pain.” 

“Sergeant?” The sound of the Captain’s voice drifted up to them. Pilkington scrambled to his feet as he peered over the ridge to see Captain Fitzjames staring back up at them. His eyes widened when he saw the spyglass in the young boy’s hands. “You found it?” 

“It was Sergeant Tozer who knew where to look,” Lieutenant Le Vesconte said as he got up, reaching for Henry’s hand to pull him up. 

“James!” Henry cried. Before the Lieutenant could stop him, the boy was sliding down the icy ridge and reaching the Captain. He nearly knocked him over as he wrapped his arms around the Captain. Captain Fitzjames stared down at him, gently wrapping his arm around his shoulders. “I-I know you aren’t really my friend… but I got so scared… Thank you,” Henry said against his thick wool lapel. 

“I could not have saved him if it were not for you,” Captain Fitzjames said gently. Henry took a step back from him, fixing his hat atop his bandaged head. “You’ve done so well.” He looked up at the three boys standing on top of the ridge, watching him hesitantly. “All of you.” Pilkington lowered his head, his hands gripping the spyglass tighter despite the numb pain. 

“Yes, be proud,” a sharp voice said. Captain Fitzjames whirled around to face Mr Hickey who eyed him darkly. The Captain gently pushed Henry behind him. “Be proud of your stupid kids. I didn’t think they’d get this far.” 

“We can put a stop to this right now,” Captain Fitzjames said firmly. Mr Hickey wasn’t listening as he looked up at the boys standing atop the ridge. Tozer stared back at him, his jaw clenched tightly. 

“Leave my friend alone,” Tozer snapped. “He isn’t anything like you!” 

“How do you know? You are so much like Sergeant Tozer. How can you tell the difference between us?” Mr Hickey asked. Tozer’s bottom lip wobbled, his eyes wet with tears. “He’s surviving, just like I am surviving.”

“You are dead!” Tozer cried. “You aren’t surviving anymore!” 

“You’ve got me on the wrong rung, boy.”

“No one fucking cares!” Armitage suddenly yelled at Mr Hickey. Captain Fitzjames turned to look back over his shoulder, confusion in his eyes. Sergeant Tozer gave the seventeen-year-old boy a warning look. Armitage curled his hands into fists. “That’s right! I don’t care about what happened to you! You died a stupidly long time ago! Why should I care? Maybe I’m sorry that no one found you? But why should we care?” 

“Tommy…” Pilkington stammered. 

Mr Hickey narrowed his eyes as he stared up at the boy. 

“We were lied to! Feed false hope and bootless plans! I could have saved you-” 

“Shut up! You keep talking to me like I remember all of that but I don’t!” Armitage yelled. Mr Hickey looked taken aback. Pilkington stared at Armitage with wide eyes.

“So why are you here?” Mr Hickey demanded. 

“To help Tozer’s friend!” Armitage suddenly snapped. “Not because of you.” 

Mr Hickey narrowed his eyes. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Pilkington could barely breathe. 

“So stupid,” Armitage said, his tone laced with what could almost be interpreted as boredom, the same boredom and hatred the boys had targeted at their parents over a joke one of them had said over dinner or at a sibling trying to show them something they thought was interesting; it wasn’t cool enough for them. 

Mr Hickey stared at the teenagers; Armitage crossed his arms while Tozer stuffed his hands into his pockets, Pilkington still holding on to the spyglass as tightly as he could. 

Mr Hickey’s red smile widened. He looked down at his stolen boots with a laugh. 

“You don’t care,” Mr Hickey said, shaking his head. He suddenly looked up at the boys. Pilkington flinched. “Perhaps I should teach you some respect, boy.” 

“Go,” Captain Fitzjames suddenly ordered Henry who turned, scrambling back up the icy ridge. Lieutenant Le Vesconte reached for him, pulling him up over the ridge. 

“You might want to get after your boy, Mr Fitzjames,” Mr Hickey said. Captain Fitzjames narrowed his eyes at him. “Boys like us get into all sorts of trouble, don’t they?” 

Private Pilkington grabbed onto his younger self, pulling him away from the edge as they started sprinting through the snow. Pilkington looked back over his shoulder, watching Captain Fitzjames disappear among the ice. 

Mr Hickey smiled. 

Pilkington held onto the private’s hand tightly as they ran. 

“What were you thinking?” Sergeant Tozer yelled at Armitage. “Now he’s just pissed off!” 

“The Hickey I know has always been an asshole, he thinks he's the best and he wants everyone to know it. I figured I’d treat Mr Hickey the same way I do the kid I know,” Armitage tried to explain. 

“Fuck you,” Tozer snapped. 

“I’m right,” Armitage shoved the taller boy who nearly fell to the snow. “Admit it!” 

Before Tozer could push him back, the ice under their boots suddenly became rock. Tozer stumbled, nearly falling against the boat that had hauled miles across the rocks, bloody chains hanging from the front of it. 

Pilkington staggered to a stop, his red uniform coat ragged and fading. The buttons no longer glimmered. 

“N-Not this,” Private Pilkington gasped as he stared at the boat as though it were a haunted house. 

Sergeant Tozer forced himself to look away from the boat, his braces hanging loosely around his hips. He looked exhausted, his hair seemingly longer, his face framed with a ragged beard. 

“We need a door out of here,” Sergeant Tozer said as he turned to Lieutenant Le Vesconte who had become a shell of the gallant Lieutenant he had been just a moment ago. 

“H-How did the memory change? We didn’t go through a door!” Henry stammered. “Can Hickey really do that?” 

“He’s eaten well,” Mr Armitage muttered. Henry looked like he’d be sick. 

An unearthly roar thundered across the rocky, barren land. 

Pilkington’s eyes widened with terror. 

“Under the boat!” Sergeant Tozer ordered the boys. “Now!” Armitage dove under the boat, crawling across the jagged rocks. Tozer grabbed Henry’s hand and pulled him down with him, the two boys scrambling under the untrustworthy boat. 

“Go, go!” Private Pilkington urged the sixteen-year-old boy who hesitated. 

The creature raced towards them. 

Pilkington dropped to his knees and crawled under the boat, the rocks scraping against the spyglass. He struggled to breathe. He closed his eyes tightly. 

For a moment, he was a little boy hiding under his bed. He remembered thinking his hiding spot was so good as he pushed himself further under the bed into the shadows. He could hear Armitage counting. 

“Ten… nine… eight…” 

The creature’s roar thundered in his ears. A gunshot crackled through the air. Lieutenant Le Vesconte let out a yell. 

“Seven… six… five… four…” 

Rocks clattered against each other. Blood dripped onto the shale. Someone was yelling at Pilkington. 

“Three… two… one… Ready or not! Here I come!” 

A hand curled around Pilkington’s arm and dragged him forward across the rocks and into snow. 

Pilkington gasped as the cold hit his cheeks and snow oozed down his collar. Armitage pulled him to his feet. 

“We got to help them!” Henry cried. 

“How?” Armitage yelled. “We can’t fight that thing!” 

“We at least have to go back for them!” Henry insisted, his voice shaking. Pilkington was barely listening to them as he slowly stepped towards Tozer who stood in the centre of the icy clearing they had found themselves in, nearly walled in entirely by the ice. Snow crunched under his boots. 

“T-Tozer?” Pilkington whispered. 

Tozer lifted his gloved hand, pointing at something resting in the snow. 

Pilkington followed his gaze. 

Frozen heads stared back at him. 

The sixteen-year-old boy screamed. 

Tozer reached for his arm and once more they were running, sprinting towards the only way out of the icy crevice. They sprinted past the icy walls, their boots slamming on to the wooden floor of a hallway. 

The boys crashed to the floor of the hallway between the front door and the kitchen of Hickey’s house, out of breath and shaking. 

The spyglass slipped from Pilkington’s hands and rolled across the floor. 

“N-No,” Pilkington gasped as he crawled after it, his pyjama pants not thick enough to stop a splinter from sticking into his knee. The spyglass rolled towards the open door that led down to the basement.

Armitage lunged for the spyglass, grabbing it before it could fall down the stairs. 

A wheezing, pained noise forced the boy to look up. 

Staggering up the stairs towards him was a corpse, half mummified. It reached its gnarled hand towards him. 

Armitage screamed as he fell backwards, crashing into Henry and Pilkington. 

“I-Isn’t that from that movie…” Henry gasped. “Oh god don’t tell me you were scared of that stupid movie!” 

“I watched it alone!” Armitage yelled as the zombie staggered closer to them. It grabbed onto the boy’s ankle, dragging him towards the stairs. It’s nails ripped through his sweatpants and clawed open his skin. Armitage screamed. Pilkington and Henry grabbed onto him. The youngest boy looked around wildly for Tozer. 

“Tozer!” he screamed. The older boy stood, frozen in the middle of the hallway. He stared at the front door and the narrow window beside it. 

On the other side of the glass was the man with the bloody smile. 

“Look at you, frozen just as you were when you watched that man’s soul being eaten…” Mr Hickey said. Tozer couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. “Your friend doesn’t need saving, doesn’t want it!” 

“Tozer!” Pilkington screamed. “Tozer, help!” Armitage kicked at the zombie that had given him nightmares for weeks, tears of fear streaming down his face. 

The tall boy suddenly turned away from the door, running back down the hallway. Pilkington watched as he kicked the monster with all the force he had, sending it crashing down the basement steps. He slammed the door as Henry hauled Armitage to his feet. Pilkington grabbed the fallen spyglass as Tozer turned and began to run down the hallway towards the front door. 

He gripped the handle. 

Tozer threw the door open. 

Pilkington watched with wide eyes as the tall boy suddenly collided with another, the two crashing to the front porch. Tozer let out a cry of pain as the other boy hit at him. They rolled across the old wood in a flurry of red flannel and denim. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tozer yelled as he tried to pin the other boy down. 

“The hell are you doing here?” the boy snapped, hitting Tozer hard. Pilkington gripped the spyglass tightly, the brass heavy and cold in his hands; his palms caked with dried blood. The boy slammed Tozer down onto the porch, pinning him down a knee on his chest. “Did Hickey send you?” 

“What? No! We saved you!” Tozer yelled. 

Pilkington reached the doorway, raising the spyglass above his head as he stared down at the tall boy pinning his friend down to the old, creaking porch. 

“Pilk! Don’t!” Tozer cried. The sixteen-year-old boy froze as James Fitzjames suddenly turned to look at him and the spyglass in his hands. 

“Y-You… You found the spyglass,” James gasped. He looked to the older, fiery-haired boy that now leaned against the railing, staring at Pilkington in disbelief. “How?” 

“Sergeant Tozer knew where to look,” Henry managed to say as he reached the doorway. James’s eyes became as wide as the lenses of the spyglass. 

“Henry!” James leapt to his feet and ran to his friend, throwing his arms around him. Henry let out as a cry as he lost his balance, the two boys crashing to the floor. “I thought you were dead! I’m so sorry!” James cried. Pilkington shot a hesitant glance at Tozer and lowered the spyglass. 

“James, be careful. You’ll actually kill him this time,” the fiery-haired boy laughed. Behind him stood four other kids that Pilkington had only seen in passing. “Are you alright?” he asked Tozer as he pushed himself up, wiping dirt and splinters from his sweatpants. 

“Fine,” Tozer muttered. 

“If Hickey didn’t send you… why are you here?” one of the boys standing on the stairs asked. “You are the last person I was expecting to see here,” he added coldly. 

“I’m not here to bully you, Edward,” Tozer said sharply. “I’m here to help Hickey. He made a mistake and-” 

“What’s new?” Edward hissed. 

“Edward,” the fiery-haired boy said, shooting him a dark look. “Let’s hear him out.” 

“Hear him out? He’s been making our lives hell since we were in elementary school!” Edward snapped. “He hurt all of us, he hurt John!” 

“I-I’m sorry about your friend-” 

“Oh shut up!” 

“No, listen to him! Please!” Henry suddenly said, both him and James having picked themselves up and now stood in the doorway, Henry leaning against James. Armitage stood beside the tall boy, glancing nervously into the dark hallway behind them. “Tozer saved me… and he saved James.” 

“Huh?” James frowned. “When?” 

“Who do you think shot that guy holding you over that hole in the ice?” Armitage said, crossing his arms. Blood oozed down his ankle and socked into his sock. James’s eyes widened as he looked up at Tozer. 

“I didn’t exactly, Sergeant Tozer did.” 

“Sergeant?” Edward repeated. 

“Hickey made a mistake,” Tozer said, ignoring Edward. “He hasn’t been himself and I’m scared for him. He made us steal that thing and when I realized just how much trouble he’s in, I decided to put the spyglass back where we found it. I had no idea about any of this…” Tozer took a deep breath. “And Pilk and Armitage insisted on coming with me. They didn’t know either.” 

“Did you?” Pilkington asked quietly. 

“I knew,” James said. “And Harry knew.” 

“The kid that went missing?” Armitage asked. James nodded. The girl standing on the stairs turned away, stepping down onto the driveway. “D-Did Mr Hickey…” 

“Yeah.” 

“How can we stop him?” Armitage asked. 

“The knife…” Tozer breathed. “Hickey has it. He’d never let go of it.” 

“At least we have the spyglass,” James said. “It’s a start.” 

“H-Hey…” one of the boys standing on the stairs stammered. “Who is that?” The teenagers turned, frowning as they looked out to the street. 

Standing in the orange spotlight created by a streetlamp was a boy dressed in a yellow raincoat. 

One of his rainboots was missing. 

Salty water dripped to the pavement. 

James pushed past Pilkington, slowly stepping down the stairs. The girl looked up at him, her eyes wide. 

“That’s not him,” the fiery-haired boy said nervously. The pale, wet boy staggered towards them, his shaking hand wrapped in seaweed reaching out to them, begging. 

“H-Help me…” the boy gasped. “S-Silna…” The girl suddenly broke into a run towards him. 

“Silna, stop!” James ran after her, grabbing onto her arm. She hit at him, the two stumbling to their knees. 

“Help me,” the drowned boy begged as he lurched towards them. James wrapped his arms tightly around the girl as she tried to push him away. 

“He’s not real,” James cried. The fiery-haired boy jumped down the stairs and ran down the driveway towards them, reaching for Silna’s hand as she hit at James again. Pilkington glanced at Tozer, unsure if they should help or not. His numb grip tightened on the spyglass. 

“G-Give it back…” a pained voice gasped from behind Pilkington. The boy turned, a scream of horror building in his chest. Stumbling down the hallway towards the front door was a bloody boy dressed as an angel, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. The halo above his head was broken, hanging on by a single wire. Blood oozed from his eyes. “Give it back..” he reached for Pilkington and the spyglass in his hands. 

The sixteen-year-old boy shook his head as the bloody angel staggered towards him. 

“Get back!” one of the other boys cried, yanking Pilkington away from the doorway. 

Henry stared at the angel. 

“J-John…” his voice trembled. Tozer grabbed on to him, pulling him down the stairs. The teenagers ran from the house; terrified and lost. The angel staggered after them. Pilkington looked back over his shoulder at him as they ran down the driveway. 

“Francis!” one of the boys yelled. The fiery-haired boy looked back, his eyes widening when he saw the angel. 

“My car, it’s just down there!” Tozer called out. “We can get away from here!” Pilkington and Armitage didn’t need to be told twice, the two boys sprinting down the side of the road towards the blue convertible.

“Go! Go!” Francis yelled at the others who hesitated. One of the shorter boys ran first, pulling the taller dark-haired boy with him. Pilkington reached the car at the same time as Armitage, the older boy slamming into the side door before yanking it open. 

Tozer stopped when he reached the car, looking back. 

Standing in the middle of the road beside his older self, Hickey stared back at Tozer, a look of hurt in his eyes. 

“Tozer…” the boy shook his head. “I thought you would help me.” 

“I am helping you!” Tozer yelled back. “I am! Please, come with us! Hickey please!” The boy shook his head. “Hickey!” Tozer begged as the other teenagers scrambled into his car. 

“You can’t help him, not now,” Francis said as he reached the taller boy. “You’ll get yourself killed.” 

“I can’t leave my friend!” 

“No one is getting left behind!” Francis said, grabbing onto his hand. “Not this time.” Tozer looked back up at Hickey who stared back at him, pleading him not to go, to not do what Mr Hickey had said he’d do. 

“Tozer! Come on!” Armitage yelled at him from the front seat of the car. 

“Tozer!” Pilkington cried, squished in the back between two boys he barely knew. “Tozer!” 

“Fuck,” Tozer grit his teeth and turned, running to the driver’s side of the car. He pulled open the door as Francis was pulled into the backseat by the other teenagers. Tozer looked back at Hickey before getting into his car. The engine rumbled to life as he turned the key. He stepped on the gas, the car racing down the dark suburban road. 

Pilkington turned in his seat, looking back at the teenaged boy standing alone in the middle of the road. 

Tozer gripped the steering wheel tightly, turning the car sharply around the corner. The teenagers laughed and screamed as they were thrown to the left side of the car as it turned the corner, the rubber burning on the pavement. Armitage glanced up at Tozer; his eyes were dark, his jaw clenched. Armitage looked down at his hands resting in his lap. 

Francis leaned forward, resting his hand on Tozer’s shoulder. 

“You are doing the right thing,” Francis said. “We’ll help him.” Tozer shrugged his hand off. Francis sighed and sat back. Pilkington hugged the spyglass to his chest. 

“C-Can I see it?” one of the boys asked, his dark curls dancing in the salty wind. “John was my friend…” Pilkington looked down at the spyglass. They passed a street lamp, his orange reflection staring back at him from the lens for a moment before fading away. “I’ll give it back,” Edward promised. Pilkington looked up at him. Slowly, he uncurled his aching fingers from the brass telescope and handed it to the boy. 

“What happened to your hands?” the boy on his left asked, looking down at the quickly forming scabs and dried blood on his palms. 

“I-I scraped them… on the rocks,” Pilkington said, barely heard over the rushing wind. 

“The rocks?” Francis repeated. Pilkington nodded. “Was that where the spyglass was?” 

“Yeah… In some camp,” Armitage said, turning to look back at them. The girl sat beside him, her back against the door. Her dark hair was quickly escaping its bun. She hugged her knees to her chest, fidgeting with the hem of her rolled up, brown corduroy pants. 

“Oh…” Francis shot a knowing look at James who nodded. 

The boy handed the spyglass back to Pilkington. 

“I’m Edward by the way, I don’t think we’ve met,” he said as Pilkington curled his hands around the cold brass. 

“I’m William Pilkington… You can just call me Pilk if you want,” the sixteen-year-old boy said quietly. He had never really known the older kids, only the boys in red he skateboarded with. 

“How long have you been holding that thing?” the boy squished between Edward and the car door asked. He wore skater shoes, a white hoodie and old jeans, the hems jagged and torn. Pilkington glanced down at his clunky skateboard shoes, the nearly forgotten memory of the skateboard sitting on the kitchen counter flashing through his mind.

“Since we found it,” Pilkington said with a shrug. 

“You’re doing pretty well,” James smiled. 

“Oh, we met Captain Fitzjames,” Pilkington said as he turned to look at him. He sat partially on top of Henry and Francis, his hair falling into his eyes. 

“You did?” 

“Yeah, Armitage thinks you aren’t cool enough to be the captain but-” 

“Shut up!” Armitage yelled back at him. 

“You said it!” Pilkington cried. 

“He has a point,” Francis laughed. James elbowed him in the ribs. 

The car turned on to a narrow road that followed the coastline. Over the wind, they could faintly hear the waves crashing against the rocks. Pilkington looked out at the ocean, watching the waves glitter in the moonlight. 

“Where are we going?” Armitage asked. 

“I don’t know…” Tozer sighed. “Just away from there.” The headlights cut through the thick darkness that surrounded them. Armitage leaned forward, turning on the radio but all that came through was static. He turned it off. The car coasted around another bend in the road. 

A flash of light ahead of them caught Pilkington’s eye. 

The lantern waved back and forth, beckoning for them to stop. 

As they got closer, Pilkington could make out the tall figure’s long, faded coat and the golden ribbon around his hat. 

“Stop! Stop!” Pilkington yelled. Tozer braked, the car coming to a sudden stop. James got up, staring over the windshield. He smiled. The tall boy scrambled out of the car, running to Captain Fitzjames. Pilkington and Armitage stayed in the car with Tozer as the others hesitantly got out. Tozer leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. 

“It’ll be okay,” Armitage whispered. “W-We’ll figure it out. We’ll save Hickey and return the spyglass. It’ll be okay.” 

“He won’t want to be my friend after this,” Tozer said, his voice breaking. “I know he did bad things… in that life and this one… but… but he’s my friend. And-” A gloved hand rested on his shoulder. Tozer sat up, looking up at Sergeant Tozer who gave him a pained, reassuring smile. Tozer’s bottom lip wobbled. His eyes welled up with tears.

“We’ll save your friend,” Sergeant Tozer said. “I promise.” Tozer nodded. “Come on,” the Sergeant said, stepping back from the door. Tozer reluctantly got out of the car, Pilkington and Armitage following him. 

“Still got the spyglass?” Pilkington turned to see Private Pilkington who smiled. “Good job,” the Private said. 

“A-Are you all here?” Thomas Jopson asked Captain Fitzjames who stood silently behind James, almost looking small under his heavy coat. The lantern in his hand glowed brightly. The Captain nodded, meeting the gaze of someone behind the boy. Thomas turned. Standing before him was an almost skeletal man, his dark hair falling over his pained face, the very face the boy had seen crawling towards him from the dark. He looked as though he’d scream but the man gently took his hand. Instead, the boy could only let out a gasping sob.

“Perhaps we should go somewhere where we can all talk,” Sergeant Tozer said. 

Captain Fitzjames could only nod. 

Francis looked down at his running shoes. 

“Do not feel sad,” Captain Crozier said as he walked up to him. “Remember what I told you, hmm?” 

“It was you!” the boy in the white hoodie suddenly cried, his older self standing beside him looking stunned and horrified that the boy would yell at the Captain like that. “You pushed me out of my dive!” 

“You did not belong there, Collins,” Captain Crozier said with a warm smile. 

“Do you know what's going on?” Pilkington whispered in Private Pilkington’s ear. 

“I think we’re going to try to make a plan,” the Private laughed. Pilkington looked up, frowning with confusion as his gaze landed on a door that now stood in the middle of the road. He watched as the two Captains stepped through the door, the boys following. “Come on,” the private encouraged. 

Pilkington stepped through the door and out onto the deck of a great ship. The air was cold. The sails fluttered in the wind and birds swooped overhead. 

The sixteen-year-old boy ran to the railing, looking down at the cold waves that crashed against the side of the ship. He laughed as cold sea spray hit him in the face, his grey coat billowing around him. He was quickly joined by Armitage and Tozer, the three boys looking out at the waves with amazement. Pilkington turned, the other teenagers also at the railings, watching the looming icebergs pass by with awe. 

The girl stood with her older self, staring down her mittened hand held gently by Lady Silence, her fur hood hiding her face from the others.

James took off his tall hat, laughing at how strange it looked to him. He pulled on the tip of Francis’s tall hat, the older boy glaring at him. James laughed. 

“This is a bit of a benjo, isn’t it?” Lieutenant Le Vesconte said to Captain Fitzjames who smiled. 

“What the fuck is a benjo?” Armitage asked. Mr Armitage looked embarrassed as Sergeant Tozer smacked the back of the boy’s head. Captain Fitzjames looked down at his boots, hiding his laugh behind his coat's large collar.

“We’re not here to play around,” Francis said once he had fixed his hat. The other teenagers reluctantly left the railing, gathering around on the wet, cold deck. Their older selves looked on with interest. “Dr Goodsir told us about Hickey’s knife. If we can get it, then we’ll have both objects and we can decide what to do with them, either keeping them or destroying them. The problem is getting the knife. Tozer, you said he won’t give it up?” 

“He lost it for a day and I’ve never seen him so scared,” Tozer said, crossing his arms. “He isn’t going to hand it to you. You’d have to rip it from his hands.” 

“So we fight him?” Edward asked. “That’s the last thing I want to do right now.” 

“All of us ganging up on him won’t help at all,” James said. “He wouldn’t trust us. Besides, it’s not just him we have to worry about.” 

“Mr Hickey told us that all of this isn’t really about us,” Armitage said. He gestured to Mr Armitage and the others standing around them. “It’s about them. Whatever he does to us it's meant to hurt you.” 

“He felt as though we were not worthy of leadership… He thought he was equal to me,” Captain Crozier said. “Maybe he was. Either way, he’s still bitter that nothing went his way.” 

“What if… What if we make him think it went his way?” James asked. The others frowned. “What if we make him think he got one of us or all of us… but he didn’t?” 

“How?” 

“Well… we have to lure him away from Hickey anyways. So… a group of us lure Mr Hickey away and the other will deal with Hickey,” James suggested. 

“He’ll see right through it,” Collins said. 

“Then… we’ll have to confuse him or distract him,” James kicked at the deck with his boot. 

“Our memories,” Tozer suddenly said. “He doesn’t get them.” 

“What?” 

“Our memories of the life we’re living right now. He doesn’t understand them. Have you noticed that?” Tozer asked. James frowned, glancing at the others. “Pilk, your memory about him being under your bed. Remember how we got around him?” 

“We played the ‘floor is lava’ game.” 

“Which he never played so he couldn’t get us until we stepped into your memories,” Tozer said, looking at their older selves. “So we gotta get him in our memories and trick him using only things we know.” 

“How do you know that will work?” Lieutenant Little asked. “Surely he’ll figure it out.” 

“He doesn’t understand us,” James said quietly. “All of you,” he looked up at Captain Fitzjames. “You died together but us… we grew up together and that’s something completely different. I don’t even think you understand just like we won’t understand how you felt.” 

“So we trap him in our memories somehow?” Thomas asked. 

“We can help with that,” Captain Crozier said. “What about the boy?” 

“I’ll talk to him,” Tozer said. “Once we’ve separated them, I’ll talk to him.” 

“What if he doesn’t want to talk?” James asked. “You shouldn’t do it alone.” 

“He won’t want to talk to you,” Tozer snapped. 

“No, but if he runs or fights you, you’ll need help,” James pointed out. 

“I don’t want to fight,” Collins said quietly. 

“Then don’t,” James said. He met Tozer’s gaze. “I’ll help you.” 

“James,” Francis warned. 

“It’s fine,” James said firmly. “You have the more dangerous job of distracting Mr Hickey.” He turned back to Tozer who had crossed his arms around himself. “What do you say, Tozer?” 

“Okay,” Tozer reluctantly agreed. “But the rest of you have to protect Pilk; he’s got the spyglass so he’s going to be a big target.” 

“No one’s gonna touch him,” Henry said with a reassuring smile. Pilkington looked awkwardly down at his boots. 

“How will we separate Mr Hickey from the boy then?” Edward asked. James smiled. 

“A diversion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support and patience. I had hoped for this chapter to come out around Halloween and it's now December 29th. This past semester was really really hard and on top of that, I had a lot of doubt and anxiety about my writing. This chapter was a lot of fun and I didn't want to give up on it. Next chapter is the last chapter!! Because I was gone for so long too, to make up for it there will be a little epilogue that I'm super excited about!   
> Again, thank you so so so much for the love you've given this series, it really means so much to me <3


	10. the near-death experience

Waves lapped against the floating dock. 

The old dock rocked back and forth, anchored to the sea floor by an ancient chain covered with seaweed and barnacles. Seagulls flew overhead, their calls drifting over the crystal waves. Sunlight glimmered off the rolling waves. 

The infinite, crystal surface only fragmented when a tall boy suddenly broke through the waves, his hair sticking to his sun kissed skin. He gasped for air, shaking his hair back. Drops of salty water flew through the hot summer air. He swam towards the dock, hauling himself up onto the aging wood. The dock rocked back and forth. The boy sat down on the wet wood beside Francis, his orange curls drying in the warm sunlight. Francis glanced at the boy out of the corner of his brilliantly blue eye, a fiery-curl circling his cheek. The sun had kissed his nose pink. The burn would start peeling tomorrow and Francis will complain about it bitterly. 

However, tomorrow was far from their minds. 

The floating dock rolled like a little boat on the cool, sparkling waves. 

The boy smiled. Drops of salty water glimmered on his skin. Their youthful laughter floated to the beach, their towels resting on the ancient beach. The spokes of the boy’s blue bicycle glowed in the sunlight. 

The hem of a heavy navy blue coat rippled in the warm, ocean breeze. The Captain stared at the boys on the dock. 

His dark eyes were wet with tears that wavered between joy and jealousy. 

Eventually, the sun would sink towards the horizon in an explosion of colour; purples, reds, oranges and pinks. As the sunlight slowly faded during the late summer hour, the peaceful quiet was broken by the sound of young, carefree voices. The boy pedalled his bicycle leisurely down the winding road, his skin still coated with salt from the ocean, his long hair still damp and soaking the collar of his white t-shirt. Francis stood on the back pegs of his bike, holding onto the younger boy’s shoulders as they flew down the quiet road. 

The air was fresh and alive; summer was in his lungs, in his veins, in his soul. 

Crickets sang in the grasses at the side of the road. Through the trees they could hear the sound of the waves crashing onto the rocks. 

The night felt infinite; the darkening sky overhead endless. Through the dying light, stars began to shine. A sliver of the moon hung in the darkening sky.

They made their way home, leaving the boy’s bicycle leaning against the front porch. All of the old house’s windows were thrown open and the cool summer air filled the house.

Popsicles were discovered in the freezer. Tasting the sweet orange flavour and the last bit of ocean salt still sticking to their lips, the boys laid down on the grass in the backyard. 

Francis pointed to the north star, his eyes wide with wonder. 

The boy laughed when the last bit of Francis’s orange popsicle melted off the stick and landed in the grass. His tongue had turned a faint peachy colour. Crickets sang. A bat flew across the dark night sky. The cool wind danced among the trees. 

Sitting on the porch steps, the Captain stared down at his boots and the brilliant green grass that surrounded them. He knew no one was watching him but he looked around the backyard hesitantly. Slowly, he pulled off his boots, dropping them down on the porch step beside him. He placed his bare feet on the grass; it was cool but gentle, soft even. 

He missed summertime. 

In a few more hours, the boys would say goodnight to each other as they climbed under their blankets, The boy in his bed and Francis on a rolled out mattress on the floor. Moonlight spilled through the window and washed over the boys, who even after they said goodnight, continued to whisper to each other, muffling their laughter in their pillows. 

They would eventually fall in a deep sleep. The boy’s hand slipped off the bed, as though reaching towards Francis in his dreams. 

The Captain enjoyed nights like this for when he sat down by the window, he was not alone. The two Captains sat together, sometimes talking quietly, sometimes leaning their heads together and closing their eyes, as though they too could finally close their eyes and sleep, their navy coats pooled around them on the old wood floor. 

The teenaged boys would sleep in late but the tall boy always woke up first. He would stare down at Francis, his fingers brushing against the corner of his pillow. He wouldn’t understand what he was feeling for another year, but for now he was simply content with watching the way the boy’s orange hair glowed in the morning sunlight, the way he sighed in his uncommonly peaceful sleep, the way he would roll over a few minutes before he finally decided to open his eyes, hiding his face in the blankets so only his fiery curls could be seen. 

He wouldn’t understand that what he felt was a feeling over a hundred years old, buried and now finally excavated, the beautiful discovery melting in the warm summer sunlight and soaking into his heart. 

Francis would open his eyes and start to shift onto his back. The boy would quickly roll away from the edge of the bed and pretend to be asleep until Francis shook his shoulder, asking about breakfast. 

Eventually, Francis would go home and the boy would be left alone. That afternoon, he listened to music and ignored the chores his aunt had asked him to do, instead choosing to dance around his room. The old floorboards trembled under his feet, the wire of his headphones connected to his cassette player swirling around him. 

The Captain watched the boy, an amused smile pulling at his lips. 

He missed dancing; but he wasn’t quite sure what dance the boy was doing as he jumped around the room, swinging his arms and kicking his long legs, his long hair flying around his face. 

“James!” a distant voice suddenly called out. The Captain turned to the bedroom door. He frowned. “James!” The voice was louder now. The boy too had stopped, slowly lowering his headphones from his ears. “James!” The two of them stepped through the doorway, finding themselves on the cold deck of the HMS Erebus. Snow crunched under their boots. Their breath fogged around their faces. They huddled further into the large collar of their heavy coats in an attempt to escape the bite of the cold. 

The sound of running footsteps caused them to turn. 

“James!” Francis cried. He grabbed onto James’s and pulled him along, the group of teenagers running towards the hatch. Francis looked back down the deck, seeing the glint of a red smile from the darkness. He scrambled down the ladder and reached for James, helping him down. 

They stumbled, finding themselves in a dark forest. The air was cold and heavy, thick with the smell of freshly fallen rain. Droplets of water still pattered against the leaves. 

They could faintly hear the sound of someone screaming. 

“I-It was a real story…” Pilkington gasped. Clutched tightly in his hands was the spyglass. He stayed close to Armitage, his wounded hands trembling against the golden brass. The lens glinted in the murky, damp light. No stars and no moon shone overhead. 

James’s hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms. Wet leaves squelched under his shoes; a style of sneaker he wasn’t used to. His black leather coat felt tight, a size too small. He took a deep breath; there was no time to get used to it. 

At least his white linen shirt felt familiar. 

Francis looked up at him nervously, his bright eyes searching his face. 

James gave him a reassuring smile and nodded. 

“Let’s go!” Francis called out to the others. The teenagers scattered, sprinting among the dark trees. Dying, wet leaves squished under their shoes. Mud splattered onto their pant legs and soaked into their socks.

James looked back over his shoulder, pain shuddering through his chest. He pressed his hand over his left side. 

He caught a flash of movement among the trees; the glint of stolen gold buttons and the thud of stolen boots upon the wet earth. 

James pushed himself to keep running. 

A sudden force slammed into his back, throwing him face down into the mud. 

James gasped in pain; he could barely breathe through the stinging pain. 

“Just like that night,” Mr. Hickey said as he slowly walked towards him. “You thought you were so smart, thought you could trick me.” Hands suddenly grabbed James’s ankles, hauling him backwards. He let out a desperate, choking cry as he clawed at the wet earth, trying to pull himself from Mr Hickey’s grip. Strands of his dark wavy hair fell over his face, damp with feverish sweat and mist. “Scream, why don’t you?” 

James could only let out another choking gasp as Mr Hickey lunged for him, pinning him down to the wet forest floor. Tears of pain welled up James’s eyes, blurring his already weak vision. He could sense the others nearby, watching with horror from the shadows. He struggled to gesture desperately for them to leave him and get to safety. Mr Hickey grabbed his shoulders. 

“Oh come on-“ Mr Hickey shoved James onto his back, the force sending another shuddering wave of pain through him. 

Mr Hickey’s eyes darkened as he stared down at who he had caught. 

Captain James Fitzjames sneered back up at him, his upper lip curling with rage and hatred. The Captain raised his hand to hit him but Mr Hickey was faster, grabbing his wrist and slamming it down into the mud. 

His other hand suddenly circled the Captain’s throat, squeezing hard. 

Captain Fitzjames tried to hit him, the poison stuck in his throat burning. A gasping, strangled cry escaped his aching chest. 

“Oh go on, Mr Fitzjames. Speak the words,” Mr Hickey snarled. Captain Fitzjames struggled weakly, his heels digging into and sliding through the mud. His free hand gripped Mr Hickey’s shoulder, unable to throw him off like he once could have. “Oh… You can’t,” Mr Hickey smiled charmingly. “If only you had eaten well.” His grip tightened on the Captain’s throat. “Was this all a part of some brilliant plan, hmm?” When the Captain did not answer, the man with the bloody smile leaned closer towards his face, his red teeth bared. “I never thought much of you… Fitzjames. Barely noticed you.” Captain Fitzjames narrowed his eyes darkly. 

A booming gunshot crackled through the dark night. 

The bullet slammed into the earth. Mr Hickey flinched, falling to the mud. 

The Captain turned his head, able to make out Francis staggering out of the shadows, Captain Crozier’s smoking pistol held tight in the nineteen year old boy’s hand. 

“I-I’m sorry, I know I was supposed to save it but I couldn’t let him keep hurting you,” Francis stammered as he dropped to his knees beside the Captain, reaching to help him up. 

Captain Fitzjames pushed Francis back, urging him to run. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Francis tugged on his arm, pulling the Captain to his feet. Francis pulled on the Captain’s arm, gripping his wrist tightly as they started to run through the dark. Mr Hickey watched them, a furious look in his eyes. He turned his head sharply, his gaze landing on Pilkington who flinched back. Armitage grabbed his arm and the two sprinted into the dark, the spyglass held tight in Pilkington’s hands. Mr Hickey pushed himself up and started after them; he would deal with Francis and the Captain later. 

Captain Fitzjames closed his eyes for a moment, trying to catch his breath as Francis pulled him along through the woods. 

Eighteen year old James Fitzjames opened his eyes, taking in the dimly lit galley from where he hid under a table. The heavy navy blue coat he wore pooled around him; it would require one last growth spurt to fit properly. 

James glanced up to where Tozer was pressed against the wall, his red uniform coat almost glowing in the fiery lamp light. He listened intently to the faint sound of movement coming from the officer’s cabins; a boy poking his fingers where they didn’t belong. 

James turned his gaze down the darkened hallway. He watched Hickey step out of one of the cabins, twirling a pretty, gold pocket watch by it’s chain. He smiled and stuffed it into the pocket of his navy blue jacket. As if feeling watched, the boy looked in James’s direction. James shrunk back into the shadows. He shot a glance at Tozer as Hickey slowly started down the hallway, his eyes on the table. 

Tozer took a deep breath. 

“Hickey,” Tozer called out. The boy froze. Tozer stepped out from his hiding spot, his hands up in surrender. “I just want to talk.” 

“I saw you leave with them. You… You betrayed me.” 

“I’m sorry, but you have to understand-“

“Understand what?” Hickey snapped. He crossed his arms. A look of disgust flickered across his face. “I don’t have to listen to you.” 

“Christ, listen to you!” Tozer cried. “Who the fuck are you?” The boy’s brow furrowed. He looked down at the floor, hesitating. “You don’t have to be like him, none of us do. You are Cornelius Hickey, you are eighteen years old. You love to go for long drives, getting chip crumbs all over my car and putting your feet on the dash. You got an A in English this last semester and you were so happy even though you failed science. You aren’t a murderer, you aren’t a god, you aren’t a monster. You are my friend. J-Just give me that knife and everything will go away…” 

“Go away?” Hickey repeated. He looked up at Tozer with tearful eyes. 

“It’ll all go away and we can go back to-“

“I don’t want to go back!” Hickey snarled. “You don’t even understand! Only he gets it! He gets me! He knows what it's like!” 

“I’m trying to understand!” 

“No you aren’t!” 

“There has to be a better way… a better way to get free of this old town... We can find a better way together,” Tozer said gently. He held his hand out to the shorter boy who narrowed his eyes as he looked down at his outstretched palm. “Last time… every time… it’s always been fucked. We’ve always been fucked. But not this time.” Tozer grit his teeth. “Not this time, Hickey.” 

“They’ve filled your head with ideas about what they think happened… They lied to you. Can’t you see that? They are using you for their own advantage,” Hickey said quietly. “They are using you to go home and they’ll leave you behind in this shithole of a town and all you’ve ever be is a piss poor fisher. They will leave you with a losing hand! They are using you just like they used us the first time. Why can’t you see it?” Tozer looked hesitantly down at his outstretched hand. James stared at Hickey with wide eyes. 

Captain Fitzjames wouldn’t use him like that… would he? 

“What’s so wrong with wanting to go home?” Tozer breathed. “I want to go home.” 

“So let's go then. We can leave those losers to rot here.” 

Tozer raised his dark eyes. His gaze was unreadable. James could only watch him, his heart pounding so loudly in his ears he wondered if the tall boy could hear it too. The ship let out a cry of agony under the pressure of the ice. James dug his fingernails into the wooden floorboards. 

“Where were you when John died?” Tozer asked quietly. Hickey blinked. 

“Why do you care?” 

“Where were you when John Irving was killed?” Tozer repeated. He curled his hands into tight fists. Hickey took a step towards him. A cruel smile tugged at his lips. 

“Are you trying to make sure you aren’t guilty too?” Hickey asked quietly. Tozer stared down at him darkly. “You were almost hanged too… Mr Hickey told me about it. You were just as guilty. An accomplice.” 

“Shut up.” 

“It’s true, Sol. They don’t wanna tell you that but Mr Hickey can. He can tell you how you led the charge, how you handed the guns out and how you rallied the men to our cause.” 

Tozer shook his head as he wrapped his arms around himself tightly. James’s heart pounded as he dared to look away for a moment, scanning the musty darkness for any door that might get him out of here and quickly. 

Hickey reached his hands up to the tall boy’s face, gently cupping his cold bitten cheeks. 

“Together,” Hickey whispered. Tozer dropped his hands to his sides. He kept his tear filled gaze lowered. “That’s what you said, right? Together… Stay with me, Sol. Leave them, you never needed them and you never will. We’ll be better.” 

Tozer dared to glance to his left and the table under which James watched them with wide eyes. Hickey followed his gaze. 

He frowned when he noticed the corner hem of a navy blue coat lying on the old wood floor. 

Hickey looked back to Tozer only to find his fingers had slipped into his coat pocket, searching for the knife. 

“S-Sol…” Hickey stammered. 

“We will do it together… the way we want to. Not what he wants...” Tozer breathed. 

Hickey’s eyes darkened. 

He suddenly shoved Tozer as hard as he could and turned, sprinting towards the officer’s quarters at the end of the darkened hallway. James pushed himself up, hitting his head on the table as he scrambled out from under it. 

“Shit… shit, shit!” James reached a hand towards Tozer who shoved it away. 

“Don’t let him get away!” Tozer yelled at him. James forced himself to turn and run after the shorter boy, his long coat billowing behind him. He reached the doorway at the end of the hallway. 

Hickey lunged at him, grabbing his lapels and shoving him backwards as hard as he could. 

“Stay away from me!” the boy yelled as James crashed to the floor. 

Tozer suddenly jumped over James, grabbing onto Hickey. The two boys fell through the doorway and landed on the wet grass of the football field behind their school. They rolled across the ground, their t-shirts streaked with grass stains. 

The silver blade of Hickey’s old knife glinted in the sunlight. 

James pushed himself to his feet, reaching for the doorframe. He hauled himself through the door, his navy coat becoming a blue sweatshirt, his trousers becoming shorts that ended above his knee and leather boots became white socks and navy blue running shoes, the white laces fluttering with every step. 

“We’re not trying to hurt you!” Tozer yelled as he struggled to get a hold on Hickey, the two boys rolling across the grass. 

“You lied to me!” 

“I didn’t lie to you! If anyone lied it was you!” 

James grabbed onto Hickey, hauling him off Tozer. The shorter boy let out a snarl, his sharp elbow rearing back and slamming into James’s nose. Pain shot through the boy’s skull. He staggered backwards, pressing his hand to his face. Blood oozed between his fingers. 

James closed his eyes tightly. 

The taste of blood filled his mouth. 

Captain James Fitzjames opened his eyes as he looked back through the woods. Every breath sent a shockwave of pain through him. He could taste dirt and blood. He stared into the darkness, searching for the man with the bloody smile. Nearby, the other teenagers hid in the shadows; behind trees and crouched by bushes. Pilkington crouched by Armitage’s feet, the older boy scanning the darkness. 

Francis tugged on the Captain’s sleeve. 

“The doorway, Captain Fitzjames…” the fiery-haired boy said as the Captain looked down at him. 

Captain Fitzjames nodded.

He took a deep breath; how does one make a door out of nothing? 

“I see him!” Armitage called out, pointing in the direction of the movement he had just seen. Captain Fitzjames took another breath, struggling to focus through the pain. 

He found himself thinking of the door that led to his own childhood bedroom; the old white paint and the glittering brass door handle. When he was quite young, he’d sometimes look at his reflection in the brass, watching the way his features warped in the moulding. However, he’d soon get bored and reach for the handle, pushing it open to the room that was his own little world. There he fought dragons and battled sea monsters that emerged from the rug until the sunlight no longer shone through the tall window or he devised a new game to play. In that room, his little bed became his own ship that would take him far, far away to the places he read about in the books that filled his bookshelf, sailing over a sea of warm blankets. quilts, pillows and sheets. Captain Fitzjames thought about how from that bed, late at night, he would sometimes look at his door with wide eyes, thinking he heard footsteps in the old house. William liked to tell him ghost stories by the candlelight, delighted with the horror he inspired in the younger boy. Captain Fitzjames thought about how he would throw open that door and run down the hallway the morning after a snowfall, barely giving his older brother time to wrap a scarf around him before he ran out the front door into the white, sparkling world. He thought about how he’d slam that bedroom door in William’s face or peek around it to listen to his adopted parents' whispered voices as they drifted up the stairs. It was a door he had slammed in anger, a door he had closed while holding back tears, a door he had flung open in joy and a door he had reluctantly creaked open. He thought of the last time he saw that door, the last time he slept in that room, the last time he pulled it shut behind him, his heart full of hope. 

Had he known it was the last time, he might have looked back into that room one more time. 

Captain Fitzjames opened his eyes, the door standing in front of him, the edges of the wood wet from the mud. Francis reached for the beautiful brass door handle, turning it. 

The door flew open. 

An icy blue balloon escaped the memory and floated through the doorway, drifting into the darkness. The teenagers hurried into the memory of their last winter dance. The tulle of Silna’s coffee coloured dress swirled around her. Francis’s ill-fitting tweed blazer hung from his shoulders. He turned to look back at Captain Fitzjames who stared into the darkness, his hand pressed against his chest. 

“Captain Fitzjames?” 

A sense of dread hung over the Captain. Something was wrong; something was wrong with James. 

“Captain Fitzjames!” Francis called out again. The Captain forced himself to turn away and follow Francis through the doorway. Once more, navy blue wool spilled over his shoulders and the ribbon around his hat glittered in the blue lights. He took one last nervous look through the doorway before closing it firmly. 

“Hickey!” Tozer’s angry voice forced James to open his tear filled eyes. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, blood smearing onto his skin, before lunging for Hickey again. The two boys crashed to the grass. The knife in Hickey’s hand glinted as he swung it at James who managed to grab his wrist, the edge of the sharp, old blade mere inches from his left arm. Hickey’s upper lip curled in anger and he kneed the tall boy hard in the gut, throwing him off. James gasped for air as the boy scrambled to his feet and took off down the field towards the school. Tozer hauled James up, not giving him a chance to catch his breath before he ran after Hickey. 

Hickey reached the building, running up the cement stairs and throwing open the door. 

He stumbled into the dark hold of the _HMS Terror_ , his short navy blue coat fluttering against his sides as he jumped over crates. James hurried after him. His navy coat caught on a nail, the wool fabric ripping as he jumped over a box. A gold button fell to the cold wooden deck. James’s boots thudded onto the deck. He didn’t waste a single moment as he ran after the shorter boy who darted around another crate and lunged for the ladder, white light from above washing over him. Hickey hauled himself up the ladder, rolling onto the old carpet of his basement floor. James reached for his ankle but just missed him. He grit his teeth and pulled himself up the ladder. He narrowly dodged a kick from Hickey and grabbed again at his ankles. Hickey jumped out of the way and turned, running towards the stairs. James spat out blood that had spilled into his mouth from his nose before pushing himself up and hurrying after Hickey. His navy blue running shoes pounded against the stairs. Hickey reached the door first, turning to kick James again. The boy stumbled backwards, falling into Tozer who struggled to keep the two of them from tumbling down the stairs. 

James gripped the railing and pulled himself up the last few stairs. With his blade flashing in the light, Hickey grabbed at James, the two boys crashing to the floor of Captain Crozier’s quarters on the Terror. His toe still grazing the edge of the stairs, James glanced back over his shoulder, his heavy navy coat pooling on the floor around him, his golden epaulettes shining in the light. 

Sticking out of the end of his fine, navy blue uniform trousers where his loosely tied high-top sneakers rather than the heavy boots. 

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. 

“Hickey, stop!” Tozer cried. James looked up in time to roll out of the way of the boy’s sharp knife. The knife sank through one of the fine navy coloured tails of James’s glittering uniform, ripping through the fabric as it bit into the wood floor. James kept rolling, ripping the tail further till he was free, crashing into the bookshelf at the side of the room. He looked up as Tozer lunged for Hickey in a flash of bright red, the shorter boy struggling to pull his knife free from the wood floorboards. Hickey fell back onto the floor and raised his right foot, slamming his boot into Tozer’s chest. The boy in red crashed to the floor, the air rushing from his lungs. Hickey yanked the knife from the wood and scrambled to his feet, sprinting for the next door. 

“H-He’s just going to keep running,” James gasped, his golden epaulettes on his shoulders glinting in the white light coming through the ship’s windows. 

“W-We can’t lose him…” Tozer managed to say. “P-Please….” James grit his teeth and pushed himself to his knees. He reached for Tozer’s hand, the two boys leaning against each other as they stood up. James caught Tozer’s eye, the blond boy looking down at his boots quickly. “You look kinda cool…. With all that,” Tozer said, raising his hand to play with one of the epaulettes on James’s shoulders. James glanced down at his uniform then at Tozer, at the bright red, pristine white stripes and golden buttons. 

“You too,” James said quietly, a small smile pulling at his blood stained lips. “Come on, we can’t lose him,” James said, giving his arm an encouraging pat before he started towards the sliding door, his boots thudding on the wooden floor. The ripped tail of his uniform fluttered. He reached the door, sliding it the rest of the way open. 

He stepped into a dark bedroom. 

It took him a moment to realize that it was his own, the shield on his wall glinting in the moonlight seeping through the gap in the curtains, the navy blue blankets cascading over the side of the bed and the shelf full of books and cassette tapes. Blood from his nose dripped onto the old t-shirt he wore most often to sleep in, the hems of his plaid pyjama pants getting caught on a splinter in the floor. He frowned; why this memory? 

The feeling of childish panic began to crash over him as he slowly turned, his gaze landing on the tall, dark figure standing in the corner of the room. James closed his eyes tightly. He curled his hands into fists. 

“Y-You are Captain James…” the boy gasped. “You aren’t… you aren’t a monster… you aren’t…” The floorboards creaked under heavy boots. “No… No…” Tozer’s hand suddenly grabbed onto the boy’s wrist, yanking him away from the shadowy ghost. Tozer scanned the room for the nearest door, finding the closet door ajar. He pulled James along with him through the door, the two boys stumbling into another teenage boy’s bedroom. Tozer’s eyes widened as he looked around the small room. 

Before they could take a step further, a pillow suddenly slammed into James’s face. Feathers burst into the air as James stumbled, losing his balance. 

Captain Fitzjames fell against the wall with a small gasp of pain, his hand pressed against his chest. His coat felt as though it were made of lead, weighing him down to the polished floor; when had it become so heavy? 

“Captain…” Francis reached for him, holding onto his arm tightly. 

They had jumped into the memory of the winter dance before throwing open a classroom door onto another memory, pulling the dazed Captain with them. He stumbled over sand, carpet and hardwood, forgotten toy sailboats and beach towels. He let the teenagers order him where to hide and when to move, he was a stranger in this world as much as they were to his. 

Stumbling into a memory belonging to Silna, he found himself hiding by a rose bush in the girl’s garden. A thorn dug into his side. 

“Are you okay, James? Er- Sorry, Captain Fitzjames,” Thomas quickly corrected himself. 

The Captain forced a reassuring smile onto his pale face and nodded. 

“I bet it's really confusing, all of our modern memories,” the young Thomas Jopson whispered. “Thank you for helping us.” He leaned his head against the Captain’s shoulder for a moment; a gesture the Jopson he knew would never have done due to rank and rules. 

Captain Fitzjames, instead of responding with a reprimand and confusion as he once might have, smiled. 

They continued to weave their way through memory after memory in hopes that Mr Hickey might continue to follow them, finally finding the way back to the memory of the brilliant dance. They had barely stepped through the door when a wave of pain rolled over Captain Fitzjames, sending him falling. 

The other teenagers had not noticed, continuing to run down the hallway, their dress shoes borrowed from older siblings and parents clicking on the polished floor. The Captain knew he should have called after them, however they knew this world far better than him; they knew every crack, every door, and every room. He would slow them down, Captain Fitjames thought as he pressed his hand against his aching chest. 

Yet, he was determined to catch his breath and catch up to them. 

Francis had remained, reaching for the ailing Captain as he leaned against the wall. The scratched, golden buttons on his coat glinted meeky in the blue light. “Are you alright?” Captain Fitzjames forced himself to nod. “Y-You are bleeding,” Francis stammered, his eyes widening in fear as he looked up at the man who so closely resembled his best friend. Captain Fitzjames glanced up at him with wide eyes before hesitantly reaching his hand to his nose. The pads of his fingers came away bloody. “Captain… What is happening? Why are you-“ 

A scream from down the dark, balloon filled hallway echoed towards them. 

The Captain pushed himself off the wall and started down the hallway as fast as he could. He stopped when he realized the teenagers were running back down the hall, their eyes wide with terror. They nearly ran into him, hiding behind him as though the folds of his heavy, navy blue coat could protect them from the devil that slowly walked towards them from the darkness. Francis held onto Captain Fitzjames’ sleeve. Pilkington peered around the tall Captain, the spyglass held tightly in his hands. Armitage hovered close behind him. He glanced over his shoulder at the dark hallway behind them, searching for a way out. Collins had tripped, crawling almost under the Captain’s coat in an attempt to hide. Silna stood close to him, her dark eyes locked on the man with the bloody smile. As he stepped closer, she grabbed onto Captain Fitzjames’s left wrist. Edward and Thomas watched him nervously from over Francis’s shoulder. 

Captain Fitzjames forced himself to take as deep a breath he could manage, puffing out his chest despite the pain that shot through his tired body. He clenched his jaw. 

“Perhaps you are right, Fitzjames,” Mr Hickey said, pulling on the string of one the icy coloured balloons, watching with wide eyes the way it sparkled in the blue light. “Perhaps no one else has to die today. But… in return you have to give me back that spyglass. Irving isn’t even here to decide what he wants done with it. Doesn’t seem right… Fighting over it like this.” 

“Like he’d let you have it!” Edward snapped, shoving off Thomas’s warning hand. He pushed past Francis and Captain Fitzjames, staring Mr Hickey down furiously. Mr Hickey’s smile wavered; the memory around them shuddered like a ship under the great pressure of the ice. Mr Hickey narrowed his eyes darkly. “Lieutenant Irving would never give it to you! And my friend never would have given it to you! You can go to hell!” 

“Those are some big words, Little,” Mr Hickey said darkly. “I feel sorry for you; you are being used just like you were all those years ago…” 

“Shut up!” 

“Lied to… just one big losing hand…” 

Captain Fitzjames’s right hand curled into a fist, his nails digging into his palm. Dark, murky blood oozed around his nails. 

“We were all losing!” Francis suddenly yelled, his bright eyes filled with tears. “All of us.. Lost. We lost way before we even realized it…” 

Captain Fitzjames stared down at his boots. A tear slipped from his cheek and landed on the thick collar of his coat. 

Armitage gave Pilkington’s arm a tug, the two boys turning to run down the hall. The spyglass glinted in the sixteen year old boy’s hands. Pilkington looked back at the others nervously. They gestured to him to keep running. Armitage pulled him towards one of the classroom doors. 

“We won’t give you the spyglass back,” Francis said firmly, his bright gaze narrowing. 

The memory around them trembled under the icy pressure.

Mr Hickey sighed. 

“You disappoint me.” He took another step towards the frightened teenagers and the Captain they hid behind. Captain Fitzjames did not move, only glance down at Francis urgently; _run_. 

“Captain,” Francis tried to protest but Captain Fitzjames was already turning his attention back to Mr Hickey. 

“Pilk!” Armitage suddenly screamed. They turned, watching the boy beat the closed classroom door frantically. He turned violently towards Mr Hickey. “What did you do? Let him go!” Dread crashed over Captain Fitzjames as the other teenagers rushed to help Armitage open the door. “Pilk!” 

They could hear the younger boy’s screams from the other side of the door but he could no longer hear them. The boy looked nervously around his dark bedroom he now found himself in. 

The sound of heavy boot steps from the other side of the door sent a jolt of painful terror through him. Pilkington looked frantically around the dark room; there was no closet to hide in and the window he knew would not open, it had been jammed years ago. 

His gaze dropped to the dark space under the bed. 

The boy’s aching grip tightened on the spyglass. 

Captain Fitzjames turned away from the terrified teenagers who yelled for Pilkington to open the door. He stared Mr Hickey down, rage boiling in his chest. 

“I have decided to take my offer back then,” Mr Hickey said with a shrug. “None of you will be spared.” He narrowed his eyes at Captain Fitzjames who frowned. 

Cold wind suddenly hit the Captain hard. He raised his arms to protect his face from the freezing, biting wind. It tugged at his long, navy blue cloak and threatened to yank off his bicorn hat. As the wind died, he slowly lowered his arms. The deck under his boots leaned side to side. The compass in front of him spun wildly, unable to find north. 

Captain Fitzjames felt sick as he stumbled back from the compass, his back hitting the _HMS Erebus’_ frosty railing. 

A boy’s scream echoed across the icy waters. 

He turned, searching for where it came from but no one was out there. The screams got louder. Francis called out his name. Despite the cold that shot up his arms, Captain Fitzjames gripped the ice covered railing. 

He could not save them. 

The compass spun faster and faster. 

Another terrified scream drifted across the dark waves. 

Captain Fitzjames pressed his gloved hands over his face, sinking down to his knees in a pool of navy blue wool. 

“Stop… Stop it…” he begged. 

A boot pressed against his shoulder, nudging him backwards. The Captain struggled to catch his fall only to find himself falling into his chair in the wardroom, the legs nearly tipping all the way back. As the legs slammed back down onto the wooden floor, Captain Fitzjames looked up at Mr Hickey who sat across from him, his stolen boots resting on the fine table. 

“Your boy having some trouble?” Mr Hickey asked, holding a handkerchief out to the Captain. He gestured to his nose. Captain Fitzjames wiped his bleeding nose with the back of his hand, a small red stain blossoming on the hem of his white sweater. Mr Hickey tucked the rejected handkerchief back into his stolen coat pocket. 

“I will not let you hurt those children,” Captain Fitzjames hissed. 

“You are all talk, Mr Fitzjames,” Mr Hickey said, leaning back in his chair. Captain Fitzjames grit his teeth; Lieutenant Gore’s chair. “All you do is talk, say what you are going to do. And then what? I’ll tell you what. That spyglass will be mine in a moment and my boy will kill yours and maybe even Tozer’s if he keeps this up.” Captain Fitzjames’s eyes widened. “You’ll never touch that knife and neither will little James.” 

“Damn you.” 

“Are we not already damned?” Mr Hickey asked. Captain Fitzjames slammed his fist down onto the table, rattling the empty crystal glass and the engraved cutlery. “Damned from the start. You knew it. When did you first start feeling sick, I wonder. Strange… how quickly you died for someone I thought was so strong. I heard the stories.” 

“Do not taunt me.” 

“Or what? You’ll have me punished like a boy again? You have no rank to pull in this world, Captain Fitzjames,” Mr Hickey hissed. Captain Fitzjames lifted his dark, furious gaze from the table. “This is my world. I decide the law here.” 

“Your world is falling apart,” Captain Fitzjames said quietly, his tone laced with anger. “I saw it tremble when they stopped fearing you… When they stopped believing in you. That’s the way out, isn’t it?” Mr Hickey met his dark gaze. “The cracks in your walls. I see them. I always saw them. I know a fake when I see one.” Mr Hickey let out a little laugh. He swung his feet off the table as he sat up to lean closer to the Captain. 

“A crack can easily be fixed, I would know,” the caulker smiled. “Fear never goes away. A man might stop fearing what is in the depths of the ocean… but he’ll start fearing what is out on the ice. He’ll start fearing what the man asleep in his hammock beside him might be capable of when he’s hungry.” He leaned closer to the Captain who in turn pushed his chair back from the table. “A child is no different, no matter what they say. I might not understand why they fear something but I understand that they are fearful. We all understand fear, don’t we, Mr Fitzjames?” 

“You do not know what I do.” 

“I do though,” Mr Hickey smiled. “I see what you fear, Fitzjames.” He leaned back in Lieutenant Gore’s chair, his dirty hands dragging over the fine mahogany table. 

Where his hands had just rested now stood the compass, its needle glinting in the low lamplight as it spun erratically. Captain Fitzjames stared down at the compass, his heart pounding in his wounded chest. 

“What is it that you believe I fear, Mr Hickey?” 

“Shh, do you hear that?” Mr Hickey asked, raising his hand to his ear to hear better. A faint scream echoed through the ship. The Captain’s nails dug into his palms as Mr Hickey smiled. He reached into his coat pocket for his tobacco. The Captain watched him roll it up, flecks of the dark tobacco falling onto the table. “You feared letting Sir John down… feared failure, feared your duties going neglected. Then you died and yet you still fear it,” he lit his cigarette and took a drag, smoke drifting through the once respected room. “You feared people being disappointed in you, hating you, even. You failed your last little James; let him die alone in the woods. He probably died hating you; you failed to save him. Now, you feared it all happening again so you kept secrets, hid Francis away from me, hovered over your little James until he dreaded the thought of the shadow figure standing at the end of his bed. He still dreads it. Little James figured it out though, no amount of protection can stop a determined boy, it seems. And you feared what would happen if he told Francis, feared failure again. Now here we sit. You cannot save those children, your duty to protect them has once more been neglected.” Captain Fitzjames watched him take another inhale of the smoke before letting it drift from his lips and nostrils. 

“Neglected,” Captain Fitzjames repeated. “That’s what you think.” 

“I know it. I always saw it. You were a good, loyal captain, Fitzjames. It’s a shame what happened, really. You should not have been there. A war ship could have benefited better with you aboard then this,” Mr Hickey said, gesturing to the wooden walls of the ship around them. 

“Do not tell me what you think would have suited me better. You do not know why I volunteered,” Captain Fitzjames said sharply. Mr Hickey smiled. 

“You might have split me up from my boy with your diversion but your game ends here,” Mr Hickey said, putting his cigarette out on the wardroom table. The door suddenly slid open. Captain Fitzjames had no time to look up for arms suddenly wrapped around his throat, choking the air from his lungs as he gasped violently, hitting at the ghoul’s arms. 

The ghoul wore the face of a man who had once been a part of his crew; now he was consumed by the corruption of the very flesh he had eaten to survive. 

The pale, corpse-like arms tightened around his throat. 

“Captain!” Francis yelled desperately. He screamed as Mr Hickey grabbed a hold of his black vest. He wrapped his arm around him, holding him tightly in a vile embrace. The boy clawed at his wrist, ripping open his skin. Dark blood oozed into the dark navy sleeve of Francis’s sweater. Hissing in pain, Mr Hickey threw the boy to the floor. 

“S-Stop it!” Captain Fitzjames struggled to call out. “Stop… please!”

“Stop it, Hickey!” Tozer yelled as the boy lunged through the shower of feathers at James. 

The silver blade of his knife glinted in the dim light. 

James reached to grab onto him with his left arm. 

The two boys fell against the wall of Tozer’s bedroom. James grit his teeth as he struggled to wrap his arm around Hickey who flailed and screamed. Tozer reached for Hickey, trying to help James hold him down. 

The blade in Hickey’s hand shone. 

James pinned the boy’s arms to his side, the two of them sinking to the floor. 

“Let go of me!” Hickey screamed. 

“Hickey! Stop, just listen to me, please!” Tozer said as he knelt in front of him, a wince flashing across his pale face. James held onto Hickey as tightly as he could. 

His left side of his chest ached but he ignored it, fighting back the tears of pain in his eyes. 

“You lied to me! You…. You-” 

“You are my friend! I’m sorry… I just didn’t want to see you get hurt,” Tozer stammered. “I don’t want to see anyone get hurt! Mr Hickey cannot save you. He’ll only hurt you more. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry.” 

“H-He promised me… that everything would be better,” the boy sobbed. “I’m just like him!” 

“No you aren’t,” James said through gritted teeth. “None of us are truly like them. And we don’t have to be… You are a whole new person… and you can decide what you want. Not some dumb past life who doesn’t even know what a movie is,” James managed a laugh. “I know… I know we haven’t been friends at all… and that’s okay… I understand. But I don’t want to fight anymore… and neither does Tozer and I don’t think you do either. You don’t have to listen to me… but please at least listen to Tozer. Just… Just give Tozer the knife and we can go home or wherever you want to…” 

“G-Go home?” Hickey’s grip tightened on the knife in his hand. Blood stained the handle and streaked the blade, dripping to the wooden floor. 

"Get out of the way," Edward suddenly shoved Armitage out of the way. He took a deep breath before ramming his shoulder against the door. It shuddered under his weight. The boy took a step back and kicked the door as hard he could. The door swung open, slamming against the wall. The ghoulish man turned to look at the teenagers, his bloody smile widening. Armitage screamed as he ran at the ghoul, shoving him away from the bed where Pilkington hid. Edward grabbed the nearest weapon he could find, a baseball bat left on the floor of the bedroom, and swung at the ghoul. It suddenly grabbed the bat and shoved Edward back.

As he crashed to the floor, Silna grabbed the blanket off the bed and threw it over the ghoul who staggered, suddenly blinded. The ghoul swung it's twisted hands out, hitting Armitage before he could duck out of the way. He staggered back, blood dripping down his cheek. The ghoul yanked the blanket from his head, bearing his sharp, bloody teeth. He lunged for the teenagers, earning terrified screams from them as they flinched away. His black gaze dropped to Edward, the boy scrambling backwards. The ghoul lunged for him, twisted nails digging into his shoulder. Edward screamed. 

“C-Captain!” Francis wailed, his screams echoing through the wardroom. Captain Fitzjames closed his eyes tightly. Mr Hickey smiled down at Francis, his hand reaching for his throat to strangle the soul from him. His pale fingers squeezed around the boy's throat. 

How hungry he was... 

A boot suddenly pressed against Mr Hickey's shoulder and kicked. 

Hickey kicked at Tozer who merely grabbed his ankle and slammed his foot back down onto the floor, the sole of his running shoe slapping against the wood. 

“Let go of me!” Hickey screamed, flailing against James who held onto him as tightly as he could. 

Hickey’s knife flashed. 

James’s arms around him tightened painfully. 

“Only if you listen to me! Please! Please, Hickey!” eighteen year old Solomon Tozer sobbed, tears slipping down his cheeks and falling onto his red flannel. “You are my friend. I’m not leaving you behind. Think about all the years we’ve known each other! Not on the expedition, not then, but now! Now, Cornelius! Now! I know there have been bad times but think about the good! Think about Billy and Magnus! Think about me! We don’t have to go home but we can’t stay here anymore. We can go to the beach, we can go to the redoubt or go get dinner or go for a drive, anything! Please..” Tozer held his hand out to the boy, his teary eyes flickering down to the knife. The boy let out a weak sob. 

Captain Fitzjames let out a gasping sound, half a sob, half a laugh, as Captain Crozier carefully pulled the fiery-haired boy to his feet. 

“Should have saved that shot, boy,” Captain Crozier said gruffly. Francis spluttered out an apology. “Don’t be sorry,” Captain Crozier said. “You were merely trying to save a friend. Is that not what we all want to do? Save a friend? Save ourselves?” He turned his steely gaze down to Mr Hickey who sneered up at him. 

Hickey sobbed, the knife trembling in his pale hand. Tozer stared at him with wide, pleading eyes. James clung to the sobbing boy, his wavy hair sticking to his sweating, pale face. 

“We’re free…” James managed to say. “We aren’t cold anymore… w-we aren’t hurting anymore… We’re free…” Hickey stared down at the knife and Tozer’s outstretched hand. “We’re free,” James repeated. “F-Free…” 

The boy’s grip loosened on the old blade. 

It dropped into Tozer’s trembling palm. 

The memory around them warped and twisted, bursting into thousands of snowflakes. 

Edward watched with wide eyes as Collins swung the fallen bat at the ghoul who suddenly burst into shards of ice. Collins staggered, realizing they were now in the living room of the old house, bits of glittering ice covering the floor. 

In the dining room, Francis stared at the black window as snowflakes landed in his fiery curls.

Tozer reached for Hickey’s hand as James’s arms limply fell from the boy. He pulled Hickey to his feet, glancing around the small bedroom they now found themselves in; it’s curtains riddled with holes from moths, the mattress rotting, the floors creaking with every step. 

“James? You alright?” Tozer asked as James wrapped his arms around himself. 

“Y-Yeah… Just give me a minute,” James said quietly. “I think I fell on my chest wrong…” Tozer frowned. James waved him away. “Go find the others. I-I’m okay,” James insisted, looking up at Tozer with a reassuring nod. Hesitantly, the boy turned away and led Hickey from the room. 

James took a deep, heaving breath. 

He pressed his right hand against the floor and with gritted teeth, forced himself to his feet. 

“I can walk…” he told himself. “I can walk…” He made his way to the door, smiling at the sound of his friend’s voices echoing through the old house. He was faintly aware of the sound of something wet dripping to the floor but he wasn’t sure what it was. He made his way down the hallway to the stairs, following the sound of Francis’s voice. Gripping in the railing, the tall boy eased his way down the stairs. He wondered if he’d broken a rib. The pain got worse with every step; his arm felt like it was burning. 

James reached the bottom of the stairs. 

Watching the teenagers hesitantly greet Hickey, a cloud of dread settled over James. 

Captain Fitzjames stared down at the boy, tears spilling from his eyes. 

“C-Captain?” James whispered. 

“James!” Francis suddenly called out to him. 

Why did he sound so far away?

“Oh my god…” Collins suddenly gasped, paling in horror. Francis froze. 

“J-James…” Francis whispered, his gaze lowering to the tall boy’s chest. James followed his horrified stare. 

Blood blossomed from his side and spilled down his t-shirt. He lifted his arm, watching the blood ooze from a deep wound and drip from his fingers to the floor. 

“O-Oh…” James whispered. He looked back up at the horrified teenagers. Henry took a nervous step towards him. James's hands trembled. The world around him spun violently. His knees gave out. 

Francis rushed to catch him before he could fall to the unforgiving floor. James crashed against him, the older boy landing hard on the dirty floor. He clung to James, pressing his hands frantically over the wounds. James’s head swam. Francis pulled off his orange sweater and pressed it against James’s wounds, the red soaking into the orange fabric in a nauseating pattern; bloody petals and twisted vines. 

“You did this!” Edward was yelling. 

“I didn’t mean to!” Hickey yelled back. “I was defending myself!” 

“We did all of that for you and you did this!” 

“Stop it!” 

“James!” 

“He’s gonna bleed out!” 

“Someone help Francis!” 

“We have to get Dr Stanley!” 

Barely able to follow the voices around him, James stared up at Francis. He didn’t want him to cry. 

Arms were suddenly circling him and James was faintly aware that he was being picked up. His head rolled against Tozer’s chest. 

“I can drive him there,” Tozer’s voice rumbled in his chest. 

And then they were moving; where to, James wasn’t sure. Pain overwhelmed him, a horrible sound escaping his bloody lips. 

Where was Francis? 

He caught glimpses of the crumbling, abandoned house as he was rushed through it and then suddenly the salty night air hit him. 

Blood dripped from his navy coloured running shoes, the white laces flying wildly with every step Tozer across the dead grass. 

He was dimly aware of the chaos around him and the boy carrying him; of Francis trying to keep the orange sweater pressed against him, of Hickey nervously following Tozer, of Edward sprinting ahead to the blue car parked at the front of the house, of Henry reaching for James’s limp hand, of Silna grabbing onto James’s blue bicycle and riding it across the dead grass to the road, of Collins gripping his skateboard tightly as he looked back at the back door, of Thomas running to the road to find a neighbour whose telephone he could barrow to call the doctor, of Pilkington still holding onto the spyglass and Armitage following on Tozer’s heels. 

They reached the car, Henry leaping into the backseat to help gently lie the tall boy down. James’s head rested on Henry’s thigh, Francis scrambling into the back beside him. He reached for James’s bloody hand. 

“You’ll be okay,” Francis promised as Tozer started the car. The engine roared and he spared no time in stepping on the gas pedal. The ocean wind washed over them. 

James stared up at the flashing orange street lamps, the warm glow shining over him for just a moment before fading again. 

Darkness crept into the edges of his vision. 

“James!” Henry called out to him. “Tozer, drive!”

Francis clung to the tall boy’s weak hand. 

“James… Please… don’t go…” 

The orange lights flashed and then all there was darkness. 

It was a heavy darkness, suffocating and cold. 

Slowly, James realized he was sinking. 

Sinking like a tired, wounded ship, down, down, down to the bottom of the cold sea. 

Finally, he reached the bottom. 

Laying on the icy sand, James opened his eyes. His dark curls swayed in the current. Through the faint light that reached him down here, he could make out the silhouettes of pancake ice dotting the surface, glowing like clouds. 

He stared up at the ice. 

There was no sadness, no pain, no cold. 

Just the ocean and the ice. 

He watched as first one ship and then another sailed over him, cutting through the cloud-like ice, their hulls like great whales. 

The current swirled around him, stronger now. 

He found himself closing his eyes, wishing for sleep. 

“You found the spyglass!” Harry Goodsir said. James opened his eyes, blinking against the light of the bathroom. The sound of music from the party downstairs thudded through the floor and the closed door. His head spun as he realized he was sitting in the empty bathtub, his legs hanging over the edge. Harry sat beside him just as he had only a few weeks ago on a night James had tried so hard to forget. Only now, he was dressed in his yellow raincoat. He was missing one of his boots. 

James glanced down at himself, at his bloodstained t-shirt and jeans. Even his socks and shoes had a faint red tinge, the white laces stained red dangling around his ankles. 

“Tozer did,” James managed to say as he looked up at the younger boy. 

“I’m glad he did…” 

“I’m sorry,” James whispered. “I should have stayed with you that night…” 

“How could you have known?” Harry asked. “You were happy and I wasn’t going to ruin that. Wasn’t that the whole point of the wish?” 

“I suppose… but it’s doomed to repeat now anyways…” 

“Does that mean it can’t be a good life despite that?” Harry asked. James frowned. “Despite everything, despite knowing you are doomed, you can still find love, find joy, find peace. We did it once, we can do it again.” 

“Would you want to keep repeating this cycle?” James asked. “Keep breaking apart like this?” 

“No… I don’t think I want to keep this up forever. I would like to sleep eventually. But… I can do it one more time.” 

Harry Goodsir and James Fitzjames fell silent. They listened to the faint sound of voices and music; what lifetime they were from they couldn’t be certain. 

“Am I dead?” James asked after a few moments. 

“Not yet.” 

“Am I going to die?” 

“Maybe. That was a lot of blood.” 

“Too much?” 

“Possibly.” 

“But I might survive?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Would you be lonely if I survived?” 

“No, I’m not lonely,” Harry Goodsir smiled. James found himself smiling too. “I miss you, but I’m not lonely.” 

“I miss you too.” 

“Besides…” Harry looked down at his pale hands, his fingers pruney from the salt water. “God wants you to live.” James watched him quietly. “You did a good job figuring it all out, you should be proud. You did it, James.” Tears welled up in the tall boy’s eyes.

“What do you think will happen to Hickey?”

“Mr Hickey? I think he’ll still try to have his way… but maybe things will be different now. But the boy? I think he’ll be okay.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“I’m sure.” 

James slowly looked away from him, his head leaning back against the cold, white tiled wall. 

“You should rest…” 

James closed his eyes. 

“And I’ll be here when you wake up.” James’s eyes fluttered open, looking up at Captain Crozier with wonder and confusion. The boy reached for him, gripping his arm tightly. 

“F-Francis…” 

“Shh… try to keep still or you’ll hurt yourself even more,” the Captain said gently as he patted James’s hand. Slowly, James laid back on the bunk, his wide eyes taking in the Captain’s cabin, the little shelf above his head with books, the little desk, the log book, ink pot and pen. The ship gliding over the cold waves coaxed James into nestling against the pillow. Warm light from the lantern washed over him. “There… better?” 

James nodded as the Captain reached for the cloth resting in a warm bowl of water. Gently, he washed away the sweat on his forehead and the dried blood sticking to his nose and chin. 

“A-Am I dead yet?” James whispered. “G-Goodsir said that there was a lot of blood…” 

“You have always been a fighter, James. I’m still not entirely sure how you made it down to those stairs,” Captain Crozier smiled. A pained laugh escaped James’s chest. The warm cloth pressed against his cheek, wiping away dirt, tears and blood. “Rest now, James.” 

“If I wake up… in the present… will you be there?” James managed to ask, reaching for the Captain’s hand. Captain Crozier nodded, holding his hand tightly, his thumb grazing over his pale fingers. James smiled, finally letting his eyelids close and sleep embrace him.

He drifted through the darkness, floating on the current. 

The feeling of something pulling on his left arm caught his attention. 

Once more opening his eyes, James found himself looking at a window, the faint glimmers of morning sunlight shining through the old glass panes. He turned his head, looking up at Dr Stanley as he tightened the gauze around the boy’s arm. 

“D-Dr Stanley…” James managed to breathe out. The doctor stared down at the boy. “I-I did it… We did it… this time… We can go home…” A small smile appeared on the doctor’s face. 

“Yes.. you did it,” Dr Stanley said quietly. “Captain.” 

James smiled, struggling against the deep sleep that threatened to pull him back under. He couldn’t fight it for very long, slipping back into the darkness. 

In a chair under the window, Francis slept quietly, a blanket draped over his shoulders. 

Drifting in and out of the current, James became aware of the world around him. 

As afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, Thomas brought Francis lunch, the two boys sitting at James’s beside quietly. In the middle of the afternoon, James’s family arrived, hovering over him with worry and questions. Francis struggled to answer them. When the light began to die, Henry arrived with dinner. He and Francis sat by the window watching the sun set over the sleepy town. Before he left, Henry gave James a gentle hug, whispering in his ear that he had better heal up soon. With the moonlight shining through the glass, Francis returned to his chair and blanket.

In the morning, Edward spent a few hours with Francis, the two sipping on coffee, their quiet voices drifting through the room but James couldn’t figure out a single word. 

As morning turned into afternoon, Collins knocked on the door, offering a gift of snacks, a proper pillow for Francis, a few books and a water bottle. “From the ship boys,” he had said with a light hearted smile. In the evening, Francis picked up one of the books and settled on the bed beside James. At first, he only read silently but as the moon rose higher in the sky, he began to read aloud, his voice filling the small, bland room. He fell asleep beside James, the book slipping from his hands. 

Morning came again and with it, Silna. She and Francis sat on the edge of James’s bed, the two of them sharing a small breakfast that she had brought him. As the clock struck two in the afternoon, she gave James’s hand a squeeze and left as silently as she arrived. 

As the sun sank towards the horizon, Tozer knocked on the door. He sat with Francis, neither of them entirely sure what to say to the other. 

“You think he’ll be alright?” Tozer asked. 

“Dr Stanley thinks so.” 

“That’s good.” 

“Do you think he’ll be mad? At Cornelius?” 

“No.” 

“That’s good.” 

They sat in silence for a few moments. 

“You are a good person, Tozer.” 

Darkness fell once more. Time and space blurred with sleep and ibuprofen, fresh bandages and a cool cloth wiping away the sweat on his forehead. He drifted in and out of waking, dimly aware of the world sailing by around him. 

He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep for when he opened his eyes, taking in the small, clinical room. Plain currents hung over the tall window, the glass warped from the liquid lead that made the window pane decades ago. A vase of flowers sat on the window sill, their petals hanging over Francis who slept in the old chair, bathed in the orange morning glow shining through the window. His blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, his book slipping from his legs. James expected it to fall to the floor at any moment. On the bedside table rested a cup of water and a few handmade ‘get-well’ cards. 

James reached for one of the cards, rolling onto his side. A jolt of pain shot through him, sending him falling back onto his pillows. He looked down at the sling around his arm. Curiously, he pulled back the fabric, peering at the gauze wrapped around his arms. With one arm, he struggled to kick off the blanket to see the bandages around his chest. He ran his fingers over his side and the stitches under the gauze; it felt familiar. 

Had he been hurt like this before?

Francis’s book fell from his lap. 

The boy jolted awake, blinking as he sat up straight. His sleepy gaze landed on James. “W-What are you doing? You’ll catch a chill!” Francis got up, reaching for the boy’s blankets. He pulled them back over James who could only stare up at him, his eyes welling up with tears. Francis looked down, finally meeting his gaze. A sobbing laugh escaped his chest as he gently cupped James’s face careful to avoid the bruises left behind by the fight he had. “Y-You’re okay,” Francis breathed. James nodded. Francis gently leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “You are okay... “

“I-I’m okay…” James croaked out. “I-I feel really tired… hungry…” James managed to say. Francis smiled. 

“I’ll find you something to eat.” 

“F-Francis?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Will you stay… if I fall asleep again?” James whispered. He glanced around the white room, a part of him unsure if it was real or just a memory. 

“I’ll be right here. I promise,” Francis said, reaching for James’s right hand. He squeezed it gently. 

The warm touch felt real. 

“Francis?” 

“Hmm?” 

“C-Can I have a pudding to eat?” 

“Yes, James.” The tall boy smiled, sinking deeper into his pillows. He tried to stay awake a little longer but he could no longer fight it, slipping back into the warm darkness. When he awoke next, moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating Francis; the older boy asleep once more in the chair. James watched him. He had left the headphones and cassette player James had given him on the small table beside him and yet he seemed to be sound asleep, no longer haunted by the past and the nightmares it gave him. James glanced at his bedside table; a pudding had been left for him, it’s spoon glinting in the white light. 

In the morning, James found the strength to sit up in his bed. 

“Can I see your book collection?” James asked Francis, pointing to the small pile of books on the floor by his chair. Francis nodded, carefully laying the pile down on the blankets beside him. James awkwardly picked up one book at a time with his good hand, reading the backs of them with curiosity. He reached the last book, opening it to the page that had been bookmarked with a letter. James’s dark eyes fluttered over Sophia’s words. Francis stared down at his socks, his shoes kicked under his chair. “Do you think she’ll still come to visit you this summer?” James asked, absentmindedly turning the page. Francis blinked. 

“I-I don’t know.” 

“You should ask her to. I-I think she’d like it here,” James smiled. 

“James…” 

“It’s alright… B-Besides… I know you had a crush on Captain Fitzjames before me too. I’m used to being second,” James teased. 

“James!” Francis’s cheeks turned red. He shook his head. 

“At least I know I’ll be handsome when I’m older,” James added. 

“James!” 

The tall boy closed the book, turning to look up at Francis with a sweet smile. His heart leapt in his chest just as it did on those beautiful mornings when James would peer over the edge of his bed to watch Francis sleep, the morning sunlight dancing in his red curls. 

They were interrupted by the sound of Henry, Edward, Thomas and Silna at the door. Henry rushed to James, throwing his arms around him despite Francis’s warnings to be careful. James smiled, pressing his face into Henry’s shoulder. 

“You are gonna have such a gross scar!” Henry laughed. 

“D-Don’t remind me,” James smiled. 

The afternoon passed in a blur of laughter, a few rounds of cards and the crunch of snacks that Henry had brought. As the sky outside James’s window began to darken, they said goodbye, leaving James and Francis to their books. James leaned against his pillows, the book he had borrowed from Francis resting on his legs. 

“I-I noticed you weren’t sleeping with the music anymore,” James said quietly. Francis glanced up from his book. He shrugged, his distant expression illuminated by the lamplight. “Did your nightmares go away?” 

“They did,” Francis said quietly. “B-But they’ve been replaced with something else… or maybe I should say someone else.” 

“What do you mean?” James asked, his brow furrowing. 

“Well… Last night I dreamed I was on a ship… I think it was the _Terror…_ and I was looking up at this great big shelf of ice. I’ve never seen anything like it, it was like a big crystal… All blue and silver. And as I was looking up at this ice shelf, I heard someone walking toward me but when I turned around… I woke up,” Francis said, almost frustrated. “I felt like they were reaching out to me. It doesn’t feel scary or anything… I feel a little sad but I mostly feel hopeful.” 

“Do you know who it is?” James asked. 

“I think I knew who they were once. But it’s too foggy to remember anything before… before…” Francis took a deep breath. “Do you think that we left people behind?” 

“Left people behind?” 

“When we set sail for the Arctic… do you think we left behind people who loved us?” 

“I mean… How could we not have?” 

“Do you think one of them… could be reaching out to me? Now that I remember?” Francis wondered. 

“Maybe,” James shrugged. “I’m sure you can figure it out,” James yawned, sinking into his pillows. 

“Tired?” Francis asked. James nodded. Francis reached for the light. James stopped him, his fingers grazing against his wrist. 

“S-Sleep with me… In my bed,” James whispered. Francis glanced hesitantly at the door. 

“D-Dr Stanley wouldn’t like it. I had to beg him to stay here with you, he said it normally isn’t allowed. He’s already unimpressed with me. And what if I accidently roll onto your arm in my sleep or-” 

“Francis…” James insisted. 

“If we get in trouble it’s your fault,” Francis muttered. He climbed gingerly onto the small bed, laying on his side, not wanting to take up more space from James. The taller boy cuddled close to him, leaning his head against his shoulder. He wished they could forever stay like this. 

It would be another week before James could go home, walking on shaking legs with Francis at his side to his aunt waiting in the lobby. The drive home was quiet, a fog of lingering pain medications and a scratchy sling around his arm. He barely realized it when they arrived home, distracted by a gull sailing overhead on the warm, summer breeze. James clung to Francis as they walked inside, Francis untying his shoes and pulling them off for him. 

“Do you think you make it up the stairs?” Francis asked. “We can make a bed down here for you if you can’t.” 

“I-I can do it,” James said quietly. 

“Are you sure? Dr Stanley said not to push yourself.” 

“I can do it,” James repeated. 

“Alright,” Francis sighed. He reached for James’s hand and carefully led him to the old, narrow stairs. “One at a time, okay?” He insisted, holding James’s hand tightly. The taller boy nodded. Slowly, they stepped onto the first step, the wood creaking under their feet. Once James was steady, they moved to the next one. 

“I’m sorry you are wasting your summer…” James said quietly as they stepped onto the third step. Francis shook his head. 

“I’m not wasting anything. Not with you.” 

James froze, his eyes welling up with tears. Francis rubbed his thumb over James’s fingers. The tall boy suddenly teetered on the step. Francis rushed to catch him. Once James had regained his balance, they slowly continued up the stairs. They reached the top, James slightly out of breath. He held onto Francis as they walked down the hall to James’s bedroom, the door creaking open. 

With a wince, James crawled into his bed, letting Francis pull his navy blue blankets over him even though the summer sunlight had warmed the room. 

“Do you need anything?” 

“A nap…” 

Francis smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to James’s dark curls. “Sleep well, James.” Francis turned away from him. James watched him open the window to let in the warm, salty breeze and close the curtains. He promised James he would just be downstairs and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. 

James glanced around his dimly lit room; at the shield hanging on the wall, the stack of cassette tapes, the messy bookshelf and the tall figure standing at the foot of his bed. 

Captain Fitzjames sat down on his bed, his heavy coat pooling around him. 

“You are still here… I thought… I thought you were going to leave once we destroyed the spyglass,” James said, trying to push himself up. 

Captain Fitzjames shook his head. 

“Have they not done anything with it yet?” 

The Captain reached into his coat and withdrew the dowsing rods James had made for him. Holding them in his hands, he turned the rod for yes to the centre. 

“Oh…” James breathed. 

Captain Fitzjames leaned towards him and gently poked his right shoulder with the metal rod. He smiled. 

“I don’t want you to leave me either… but once you can go home… I want you to go. Please, I want you to go home.” 

The Captain’s eyes glinted with tears. He nodded. 

“Promise?” 

The rod for yes turned to the centre.

“Good,” James breathed, his voice wobbling. He leaned back on his pillow. His fingers grazed against the hem of the Captain’s wool coat. “I’ll miss you, Captain Fitzjames.” The boy closed his eyes. 

The room fell silent save for the sweet song of birds in the trees outside and the rustle of the wind in the leaves. 

The lazy day came and went. That night, Francis slept in a sleeping bag on the floor like he always did. This time, when James’s sleepy hand dropped over the edge of the bed, he reached for his fingers, gently stroking his hand until sleep embraced him. 

James was woken up early the following morning by the sound of a loud engine starting. He listened to it’s rumble slowly fade away. A few moments later, Francis stepped into the room. He sat down on his sleeping bag, a distant look on his face. James watched him for a few moments before closing his eyes once more. 

What felt like only a moment later, he was woken up by the sound of the telephone ringing downstairs. He heard William answer it and then trudge up the stairs to the bedroom door. 

“Francis?” the boy asked from the other side of the door. “It’s for you.” The fiery-haired boy got up, his socked feet padding on the wood floor as he quietly left the room. James pushed himself up, leaning against his pillows as he stared at the door, waiting for Francis to return. 

When he did, the same distant expression had returned to his face. 

“What is it?” James asked. 

“Oh… it was just Edward,” Francis said as he sat down beside James, leaning against the old, creaking headboard. “He said that they want to decide what to do with the spyglass today. They were going to meet at the pier. I told them we should wait a little longer till you are better.” 

“I am better,” James insisted. Francis frowned. “I am!” James said. To prove his point, he tugged back his sling and with only a little wince, moved his arm. Francis didn’t look very convinced. “Why wait any longer?” James asked, more serious now. Francis sighed. “Call him back, Francis. Please.” The fiery-haired boy glanced at the window, watching the white curtains billow in the morning breeze. 

“Fine, you are right,” Francis said with another sigh as he got up and marched to the door. James smiled. 

After awkwardly changing out of pyjamas, Francis struggling to help James into a clean t-shirt, the two teenage boys snuck into the hallway. James’s aunt would no doubt be furious if she saw them. They tiptoed to the stairs, James holding Francis’s hand tightly as they made their way down the old, narrow steps. James tugged on his shoes, not bothering to tie them, only stuffing the laces into his shoes, before they slipped out of the house. Francis was careful not to let the door slam behind them. 

“Silna still has my bike doesn’t she? We’ll have to walk,” James said, squinting against the July sun. The warmth had never felt so good. 

“Well… we don’t have to,” Francis said. James turned. The boy stood beside a gold painted bicycle, it’s spokes shining in the light. 

Carved into the side in Tozer’s handwriting was the word _Terror._

James’s eyes widened. 

“Tozer brought it back to me this morning,” Francis said, gripping the handlebar tightly. “He told me that he and Hickey are going on a road trip, getting away from this place finally; said something about finally seeing the Pacific." The fiery haired boy glance down his running shoes. "He said they burned the knife too." 

“Oh…” James breathed. 

“Well, come on,” Francis said, swinging his leg over the bike. “You wanted to go.” James smiled. He reached for Francis’s shoulder as he climbed onto the back pegs. He took a deep breath as he focused on his balance. With his sling off, he struggled to grip the older boy’s shoulder with his left hand. “Just go slow.” 

“I will.” 

And then they were off, the golden bike sailing down the driveway and onto the winding street. James smiled, taking as deep a breath as he could manage. He could smell the ocean, feel the wind in his hair and the sunlight on his face. 

The winding road twisted and turned along the coastline. It wasn’t long before they reached town, pedalling past the clinic, the church and the little diner. On the sidewalk outside a group of boys in red skateboarded, their loud wheels echoing through the hot, summer air. 

They passed the library, Bridgens and Peglar sitting on a bench under the great tree out front, a book shared between them. 

They left the sleepy town behind, once more surrounded by green woods. The road rounded another bend and suddenly the beach was before them, the pier stretching out into the glittering waves. The golden bike came to a stop near the pier. Francis kept it steady as James carefully stepped down. He watched the sparkling waves roll onto the beach. 

“Try again!” a voice called out from behind him. James turned. Tom Hartnell sat in the driver’s seat of his brother’s car, the older boy trying to fix the old engine. Tom smiled brightly despite his brother’s frustration. He simply seemed happy to sit there in the sun, the radio playing. Tom turned his head, meeting James’s gaze for a moment. He smiled and waved. 

James waved back. 

A navy coloured shadow fell over him. 

He glanced up at Captain Fitzjames, a look of realization crossing the Captain’s face. 

“What?” James whispered. 

Captain Fitzjames merely smiled. 

“James?” Francis called out to him. James turned away from Tom Hartnell, joining Francis to walk down the beach. A group of teenagers stood in the waves, a spyglass resting among their towels, bicycles and backpacks. Thomas called out to them once he noticed them. 

“See! I told you he’d be up and about within a month,” Henry said as James and Francis reached them. “You owe me a dollar, Edward.” 

“I do not,” Edward rolled his eyes. Henry smirked. 

Silna smiled up at James, reaching to give his hand a gentle squeeze. 

James smiled back. 

“Pilk gave you the spyglass then?” Francis asked. 

“He said that he didn’t feel comfortable deciding what to do with it. He thought we should,” Edward explained as he bent down to pick up the spyglass. The teenagers stared in silence at the old telescope. It was now covered with scratches, it’s brass sides in need of polishing. “We thought… We thought that you should decide what to do with it… You are the Captain after all,” Edward said, holding the spyglass out to Francis. The nineteen-year old-boy stared down at it, his brow furrowing. 

“I-I can’t… I can’t decide that for all of you,” Francis stammered. 

“There's been a vote,” Henry said firmly. 

“But-” 

“Please, Francis,” Thomas insisted. “We’re at peace.” 

The fiery-haired boy took a deep breath. He curled his fingers around the spyglass, slowly taking it from Edward. 

“I think... I need to think about this,” Francis said quietly. He turned away from the teenagers, slowly walking back up the beach. James followed, his eyes on the sand. Francis walked up to the pier, the spyglass clutched tightly in his hands. The wooden planks creaked under his shoes as he walked to the end. He reached the railing, his icy gaze rising to the sparkling waves. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Francis asked as James leaned against the railing beside him. “But… But what if I kept it? And we could stay here in this little town.” 

“Wouldn’t that be selfish?” 

“When I died then… I don’t think I wanted to go home,” Francis breathed. “What was there for me? For us?” 

“You said it yourself, Francis. Someone is trying to reach out to you. They want you to come home,” James said, the salty wind playing with his hair. “And… And we still have this life, don’t we? We don’t have to go home… We can go anywhere we want...I guess... I guess I just fear that I might not find you again…” James whispered, his voice nearly lost to the wind. Francis reached for his hand. 

“I’ll find you.” 

James smiled. He watched Francis turn his gaze back to the spyglass. Taking a deep breath, he hit the spyglass against the wooden railing. Bits of glass from the lens fell to the wood planks. Francis lifted the spyglass over his head and threw it as far as he could. 

The spyglass disappeared below the sparkling waves with barely a splash. 

Francis turned to James, their laughter dancing on the ocean wind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to say a lot in this last note so if you want to skip over it to the epilogue, that's alright! Just know that your support for this fic really means the world to me and I really hope you enjoyed the story! 
> 
> This story was the hardest thing I’ve ever written. I was very happy with the first one and I was excited to do a second but quickly, a lot of doubts I struggle with set in on top of one of the hardest semesters of school I’ve had since high school. I am ashamed to admit that on multiple occasions over the past few months I came very, very close to deleting my writing. I felt a lot of pressure, mostly of my own creation. I wanted the characterization to be perfect, I wanted the setting to feel real, I wanted themes and foreshadowing and everything I thought makes a story worth reading and when I felt like I failed, I felt that my story wasn’t worth the time, both mine and yours. I apologize for the long gaps between updates and any mistakes or plot holes that resulted from that; there were many days when I just couldn’t write.  
> In the end though, I’m really glad that I finished this story. At the start of last year, I was feeling really lonely and I wanted to write a story about friendship, summer and childhood. I fell in love with the Terror and wanted to give these characters a world of summer too. This story really got me through this past year.  
> I tried my best and I poured my heart into this last chapter; it really is a love letter to summer, friendship and trying again.  
> I don’t think I’m going to write fanfiction anymore or at least for a little while. Over the past few years, I’ve forgotten why I love writing and it’s become a burden on me. I want to remember why I fell in love with writing so I’m going to go back to writing original stories and hopefully something will blossom from that. Thank you for coming this far with me, it means the world to me. I love you. Stay safe <3  
> If you want to come find me, I’m on tumblr @ ghosstkid.


	11. the reincarnation

The train sped across the country side, the rolling English hills a blur beyond the window. The sun had barely risen, the train crowded with commuters heading into the sprawling city. 

Squished into a seat in the corner of the train car, seventeen-year-old James Clark Ross scrolled through the music on his phone, his earbuds hanging loosely from his ears. He was dressed in a navy coloured bomber jacket, his sweater underneath dotted with embroidered penguins. The hem of his back jeans were rolled up to better show off his white sneakers that cost far more than they should have been priced. Ross glanced up from his phone, a small smile tugging at his lips. He raised his foot and rested it on the knee of the boy sitting across from him. 

Eighteen-year-old Francis Crozier sluggishly tried to hit Ross’s foot off. Half asleep, he leaned against the window, his crimson curls escaping the black cap he wore. He wore an old tweed coat that was a size too big, a neat white button up and old jeans, a scuff of dirt left behind on the knee from Ross’s shoe. The hems of his jeans were rolled up to reveal green socks sticking out of red running shoes, the laces tied in a hurry. His backpack sat between his feet. 

Ross smiled at his best friend. He leaned back in his chair and dug his heel more firmly into Francis’s knee. 

“Knock it off, James,” Francis hissed as he shoved Ross’s foot off, the younger boy nearly kicking a man standing by their seats. Ross straightened up in his seat, shot a dark glare at Francis. 

“I told you we’d be leaving early.” 

“And yet you still kept me up till two am,” Francis shot back. 

“We had to finish that movie!” 

“No, we didn’t.” Francis sank lower into his seat. Ross smiled as he thought about the late night before, the two of them sitting on his bed huddled under blankets, their faces illuminated by the icy blue glow of the screen. They knew they would be tired in the morning, Ross wanted to catch the first train, but still they stayed awake, leaning against each other in the dark. They were awoken by the younger boy’s unpleasant alarm. 

Francis barely had time to eat and brush his teeth before Ross was pulling him out the front door. The two boys walked down the quiet street, the cool misty morning air swirling around them. Ross talked excitedly about all the things he wanted to do that day even though he knew Francis was basically sleep walking, pulled along by Ross’s voice and the promise of a good breakfast once they got into the city. 

Now, the train was racing towards the city and Ross was content to watch the world fly by, his friend just across from him. Staring out at the blurry countryside, his music playing quietly in his ears, he found himself hoping they would always be this close. The thought of losing Francis made him feel sick. 

All he knew was Francis. 

Francis, who understood him better than the other boys. Who explored the woods with him in the winter, the snow crunching under their boots and floated down the river on inflatable tubes with him in the summer. Who smiled when he talked about Ann and laughed when he pranked his uncle, the two boys running out of the house to escape his wrath. 

Yet there was something quiet, almost frozen, about Francis. 

Ross would catch him looking over his shoulder as though someone was there but there never was. When Ross asked him about it, Francis would merely shrug, a distant expression of confusion and what Ross thought was grief flickering across his freckled face. 

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Francis asked him one day as they walked home from school. 

“My uncle says there is a ghost in our house who steals all our forks... I think he just says that to scare me,” Ross frowned. 

“Huh,” Francis blinked. 

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Ross asked. Francis paled. “Francis?” The boy glanced at him, noticing the worry on his face. 

“Don’t worry about it, James.”

“But-“ 

“I’m okay, really.” Francis smiled. Ross frowned. Francis swung his messenger bag to his front before suddenly pulling the younger boy onto his back, piggybacking him the rest of the way home. Ross wrapped his arms around Francis tightly. 

Now, Ross barely thought about the distance that so often appeared in his friend’s eyes as the train rolled into the station. He tugged on Francis’s arm, the two of them pushing past commuters and stumbling out the doors onto the platform. 

“Are we getting breakfast now?” Francis asked as they got onto the escalator. Ross nodded, checking the map on his phone. 

“I think I know where we are going.” 

“Do you want me to look at the map?” 

“No, I got it!” 

“Okay…” Francis yawned. 

They exited the station and found themselves on a bustling street, the old buildings juxtaposed against rising skyscrapers. The air smelled of salt, food from restaurants that dotted the streets and the occasional cigarette. They ended up walking in a circle before finally finding the cafe Ross had promised to take Francis to. 

The older boy was slumped in his chair when Ross returned with coffee. Francis barely noticed when Ross sat down and pushed the warm mug towards him. Ross frowned and followed his gaze. 

Sitting by the window was a young man, his dark curls glinting in the winter sunlight. He seemed focused, intently glancing between his laptop and the notes on the table beside him that had become dotted with muffin crumbs. Little stickers of marine life covered the back of his laptop. 

“Do you know him?” Ross asked, taking a bite out of his lemon square. 

“I think I’ve seen him somewhere before,” Francis said quietly. 

“Say hi then,” Ross said, his mouth full. Francis looked mortified at the thought. He leaned back in his chair, curling his hands around his warm mug. He watched the steam rise into the air. “Aren’t you going to eat? You kept complaining about being hungry,” Ross said with a frown. 

“R-Right,” Francis said quietly, reaching for the bagel Ross got him. He picked it, taking smaller bites than he normally would have. Ross watched him, puzzled, but decided not to say anything. He asked Francis what he wanted to do first in the city instead and insisted they go to at least one museum that day. 

It didn’t take much for Francis to smile again as Ross poked and prodded at him with jokes and warm laughter. Smiling once more, the crimson haired boy finished his breakfast without another worry. As Francis laughed at one of Ross’s jokes, the younger boy couldn’t help but look up as the cafe door behind Francis opened, a young woman looking around. Her eyes landed on the man who Francis had stared at and she quickly hurried over to him, sitting down across from him with a big smile as the young man, startling him from his writing. He smiled brightly and reached for her hand. Her dark braid spilled over the fur hood of her coat, her eyes glinting in the sunlight. Sewn onto the arm of her coat was the flag of Nunavut. Hanging from her bag was a polar bear keychain. 

Francis started to look up. Ross knocked over his water. 

He did not want to see that distant look return to Francis’s eyes, not today. 

“James!” Francis hissed as the water spilled over the table. Ross tried to apologize as he soaked up the water with his napkins. The young man sitting nearby glanced at them, his dark gaze lingering on Francis. He glanced at Ross, puzzled, as though he expected someone else to be seated there instead of the ginger haired boy in a sweater embroidered with penguins. 

“Let’s get going,” Ross suggested as he put the water soaked napkins onto his empty plate, feeling hot with embarrassment. 

“Sure,” Francis smiled and got up, pulling on his coat. He glanced at the young man as he picked up his backpack. Ross pulled him out the door before he could say anything. 

The two boys wandered through the streets, stepping to shops to buy treats for the train home and giggle at silly trinkets that tourists liked to buy. 

They walked along the narrow alleyways, passed by a group of boys in red skateboarding down the old alley. Francis watched them, the youngest of the boys glancing back over his shoulder as though he felt the crimson-haired boy’s eyes on them. Francis quickly looked down at his shoes. Ross pulled on Francis’s hand, tugging him towards the road and the river on the other side so that icy look might not cross his friend’s features. Francis watched the murky river flow by as they walked. 

“Are you okay?” Ross asked. “W-We can go home, if you want.” 

“I’m okay, James,” Francis said with a reassuring smile. Ross could tell it was forced. “You said you wanted to go see a museum or something, right? Did you pick one?” 

“Oh… Um…” the boy glanced around. “Not yet.” 

“Which one is closest?” Francis asked, his warm breath fogging in the cold air around them. Ross scrambled to pull his phone from his pocket, scanning the map. 

“There is one a few blocks away…” 

“Let’s go to that one then,” Francis smiled. Ross stammered but Francis was already turning away to continue down the sidewalk. Ross hurried after him. 

It was not hard to find the grand building with its sprawling grounds. Even in the cold, it was beautiful. 

Rubbing his hands together, Ross was grateful to get out of the cold and into the warmth of the museum. He wandered among the cases, eyeing the various nautical instruments with curiosity. He meandered among model ships, dreaming of what it might have actually been like to sail on with boyish wonder. He passed a group of boys sitting on a bench arguing over the answers on an assignment they had been given to complete on their field trip. 

“No, Hodgson, it’s A!” 

“I’m telling you, it’s C, Edward!” 

“I think it’s B…” 

“Irving, we already proved it’s not!” 

“But what about D?” 

“No, Dundy!” 

“I think this is easier than we are making it out to be…” 

“What do you think it is then, Graham?” 

“See, Fairholme is nice enough to ask instead of yelling at me.” 

“Shut up.” 

“I think it’s C.” 

“Ugh!” 

“I’m right, Edward! I told you! Graham thinks so too!” 

“We’ll ask James when we find him, he’ll prove you all wrong.” 

Ross glanced at the boys as he wandered past them. He continued down the hall, turning to Francis to whisper a joke to him about the boys when he suddenly froze. 

_ Where was Francis?  _

Ross spun around, looking frantically for his friend among the displays. He was nowhere to be seen. Ross’s heart thudded in his chest. Tears welled up in his eyes as he searched, darting among the cases and peering down long hallways. He wanted to yell out his name but he knew that might get him in trouble with all of the other quiet museum visitors. 

Ross leaned against the wall by a large portrait of a naval officer, a heavy fur draped over his uniform. The frame of the grand portrait glittered. 

The seventeen-year-old James Clark Ross wiped his eyes as he tried to think of where Francis might have wandered off to, when they split apart and Ross lost him. 

He took a deep breath. 

He frowned, suddenly embarrassed for his panic as he reached into his coat pocket for his phone. He scrolled through his contacts and clicked on Francis’s name. He pressed the phone against his ear and listened to it ring. Francis didn’t answer. Ross frowned as he stepped away from the large portrait on the wall, turning the corner and stepping through a large doorway. He tried to call Francis again, his heart beating out of his chest with panic. 

Ross looked up. He slowly lowered his phone from his ear.

Standing in front of a large painting of a ship trapped in ice, Francis stared up at the cold painting, his crimson curls glinting in the bright light. His backpack rested on the floor by his feet as though he had dropped it. 

Beside him stood a tall boy, his wavy hair nearly touching his shoulders. He wore a neat navy blue peacoat and dark jeans. The two boys stood in silence, yet it was not the kind of awkward silence between strangers. Francis turned his head slightly to look up at the tall boy who met his gaze. A small smile pulled at the tall boy’s lips. 

“Francis!” Ross suddenly yelled. He broke into a run towards them, throwing his arms around the crimson-haired boy. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” 


End file.
